It was another fine day for sailing, with fourteen knots on the beam, slight seas, and the warm tropical air with just a hint of the heady humidity of the approaching Wet season, SV Interlude, a Mottle 33, was reaching along with a comfortable six and a half knots on the log. They were now approximately halfway to the archipelago – still some three hundred nautical miles away – perhaps another three days if the projected forecast of weather conditions remained stable.
And it would be almost perfect too for Interlude's skipper, Ross, and his crew of one, Angela (who was also Ross's lovely wife of over fifteen years) - except for their recent act of mercy...
Ross was at the helm once more, the time at the wheel gave him some solace – always had actually – but now even more so. He knew he probably didn't really need to hand-steer – the auto-helm in these favourable conditions used little power – but helming was one of the fine pleasures of sailing – not to mention that his other favourite past-time whilst at sea, relaxing with a good book, was anything but 'relaxing' with their present company in close proximity.
"She's a good-looking sort, matie..."
Here we go again, Ross thought, as he feigned a smile in the direction of the older man who was leaning back against the stainless-steel lifelines nearby, eating yet more of Interlude's limited provisions – a can of tuna this time.
"Yep... I'm a lucky man alright, Nat... lucky indeed," Ross said, almost gritting his teeth.
It must have been close to the tenth time in a little over 24 hours that Nat had commented on Angela's attractiveness – and it was starting to wear thin.
"She's got really nice hair, matie... really nice...Nice the way it's all blowin' back in the wind an' all... Kinda free-lookin'... Yeah, you two are real lucky ta do this sorta thing when ya's both young enough..." Nat scooped out some more tuna with his calloused fingers and dropped it into his gaping mouth. He chewed noisily for a moment as if in thought, and then he continued, "Wish I'd been lucky enough when I was younger... but nah... work commitments... Some of us have ta work, hey matie?"
Ross looked in the direction of Nat's gaze once more. And regardless of the uncouth man's almost lascivious comments, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of Angela as she lay facing the bow with her back against the starboard shrouds. She'd been there for a couple of hours now – holding a particular pose – head almost thrown back, allowing her long blonde hair to flow without its usual well-banded ponytail that normally restrained it all from knotting in the breeze.
Angela looked quite relaxed, resting partly on her elbows, and partly against the shrouds, her tanned legs were bare and open slightly, with one knee raised and positioned quite casually against Interlude's cabin.
For a woman in her early forties, Ross could not fault how nice she looked in her black bikinis. It was the first time he had seen her wear them too – and although they looked fantastic on her, Ross thought they were quite cheeky in their present company.
At a glance, her bikini top looked to be a fairly basic triangular affair – except the bottom edges of the cups were not fixed to the back-strap in the usual manner, but free move – a bit like a drawstring on a bag or pyjama bottoms. The beauty of this was it allowed the wearer to bunch-up the material of the cups until they were mere strips if she so desired, or she could position them so they fitted her shape better...
Angela had them bunched-up about half way so they looked like little more than strips of single-layer lycra only a few centimetres wide – Ross had to admit that worn as such the top seemed to suit her smallish breasts quite perfectly – even if minimalist.
The bikini bottoms were of a low-waisted Brazilian cut with rakish curves that exposed a generous portion of her firm round buttocks. The cut in itself was daring to say the least, but the highlight of the garment's design was the seam stitched into the fine material that ran from a vee in the waist-band at the front, to the middle of the band at the back – in effect, it looked like the bikini had been cut in half and then the left half restitched to the right half. When worn, the seam rode up neatly between Angela's buttocks and if she wasn't too careful, it also gave her an impressive camel-toe at the front – no doubt, something they were designed to do.
"The young fella's doin' a good job, I reckon, matie... I might go forward again... That's what you sailors like ta call it, in'it? Forward?" Nat tossed the empty tuna can over the side, oblivious once again to Ross's insistence in not doing so with their rubbish, "Yep, the lad's a bloody good artist is all I can say... Gunna be a great portrait! Lucky coincidence your wife had all her arty stuff on board, hey!"
Lucky indeed – Angela was a total novice artist – something she'd only recently taken up. She'd brought her 'arty stuff' along as a first – determined to try a few seascapes along the way as a rewarding pastime during their passage north.
Ross took a deep breath and grimaced as he watched the shirtless-back of the heavily-tattooed wiry old man working his way forward toward where Angela lay posing for the young artist. Interlude was not a large vessel by any means and within a few steps Nat had come along side of Angela.
Ross gritted his teeth as he watched the old man rest a gnarly hand upon Angela's bare shoulder in an all too familiar way like a caring friend might do – something Nat had now done several times since recovering sufficiently from his recent ordeal at sea.
The old man looked back at Ross briefly and smiled – and Ross shot him back a look as if to say, 'Get your hand off my wife!'
Now if Ross's look was meant as a sign of his disapproval, it appeared to have had absolutely nil effect upon the recalcitrant Nat. The old man now hesitated from stepping past Angela – and with his hand still resting upon her shoulder; he stooped over so his weathered face was quite close to hers and spoke softly to her as he began to draw small circles with the tips of his fingers over the front of her shoulder. Angela giggled a couple of times and shrugged her shoulders coyly as if he was tickling her – but he continued to talk to her whilst caressing her shoulder regardless... until the palm of his hand was resting on the lovely soft swelling of flesh, that in essence, was the upper part of her right breast.
Ross was beginning to fume with the older man's familiarity and he watched his wife's bikini-clad breasts heave slightly as she took a couple of deep breaths. As if it was a signal of compliance, Nat's hand crept downward another centimetre or two – and then Angela giggled again and wriggled side to side as if attempting to shake his adventurous hand off. Her misguided efforts appeared to have a contrary effect, making her pert little breasts jut out even more as her bikini top slipped to one side.
Seconds ticked by as Ross stood tensely behind the wheel – he was ready to make a scene – he didn't care at that moment how close the old bugger had been to dying a couple of days ago, he was stepping over the line!
And then as if almost on purpose, Angela raised her head once again to let her long hair flow back over her shoulders - effectively obscuring Ross's view of what Nat was doing! Angela seemed to be looking down her body as she lent back on her elbows – while the old man, still leaning over her, continued to chat softly.
Ross could not see what he was doing, but in his mind's eye he was almost certain the old man's fingertips were working her top to one side – possibly drinking in the sight of one of her nipples... Perhaps he was flicking it with the tips of his fingers to draw it to erection... Perhaps!
Ross swallowed hard as he thought of his wife's nipples – she had lovely nipples, without a doubt one of her best features, long and plump when hard and quite dark in colour...Almost as large as cherries and possibly twice as sweet...
Then Ross told himself he was being bloody-minded – as if his wife would allow such a thing to happen! Maybe he was getting paranoid; maybe it was the tropical sun and he needed some more water... Or maybe his long-dormant over-possessiveness was resurfacing after all these years?
