***** Writer's note: This is the final chapter of our tale of desire.
Thank you to everyone who has stayed the course with me to finish this tale. Hope it gave you many hours of enjoyment. It is the first work I have ever written, thank you for you patience with my learning curve.
MASTER AND COMMANDER
July 4
th
, 2016 was a glorious day on Oregon's coast; the height of summer, the sun was out and the temperature was a downright balmy 72 degrees Fahrenheit. The bar at the entrance to Yaquina Bay was open; and, throughout the day, small pleasure craft and fishing boats had been entering and exiting the Newport harbor-entrance jetties.
Chief Petty Officer Michelson smiled; just twenty-eight years old, he had his own boat. And not just any boat; she was a beauty--one of only four like it. The fifty-two foot, all stainless-steel Motor Life Boat throbbed under under him as he did a quick last-minute check of his on-deck personnel. All his deck-crew were at their stations; and, everyone was where they were supposed to be. This crew was young, but not inexperienced. They had worked the last four summers and winters together. They were a team; one of the best in the United States Coast Guard.
As he cleared the two jetties, guarding the entrance to the harbor, he shoved the throttles forward; the boat quit purring and began to growl. Coming to life under his knowing hands, it surged into the chop and hit its stride in the swells and rolling 'sheep's heads'. Bringing the boat hard to starboard, he made for the lighthouse on Cape Foulweather, jusi up the Oregon Coast from Newport.
On a parallel course, about half-a-mile out from his Motor Life Boat, was a sailing vessel. Michelson handed the binoculars to a bosun, standing next to him on the open bridge; and, he shouted to her over the boat's twin diesels.
"See who they are!"
The Coastie, who took them, was a twenty-three year old young woman dressed with her hair drawn back in a ponytail that she'd pushed through the Coast Guard ball-cap, so it wouldn't blow off.
She focused. The boat was a ketch-rigged forty-footer--make that thirty-eight footer—old-style sailing rig, two masts with the second mast shorter than the first, and tanbark sails.
Built sometime in the 1980s or maybe 1970s,
she guessed. From the topping lift, it was flying a fairly large US Ensign. She zoomed in with the binoculars.
Her name's 'Daddy's Girl' ... unusual name. Haliport is Newport, Oregon.
" 'Daddy's Girl', local boat." she shouted. He nodded his head,
Yes.
"Do you know the boat, Chief?"
"Yeah!" he yelled back. "The owner's a lawyer; and, the boat was named for his wife, if I remember right. Divorce boat--part of a divorce settlement."
"Do you want to hail them for an inspection?" She leaned in to hear his response.
"No," he yelled, "let's finish the beach-sweep up the coast; we can catch them in the harbor later, if they're still sailing."
Raising his voice a bit, he called out to his second-in-command, "You good with that, Thomas?"
He glanced over at the Petty Officer, standing behind the bosun, who was watching the beach instead of the ocean. Twenty-five-years old, he'd just graduated from the Coast Guard Advanced Rescue Swimmer program in Astoria, Oregon. He was the boat's Surf-Rescue Tech and their Emergency Medical Technician.
Petty Officer Thomas turned from the beach, lowering his binoculars from his eyes. He nodded. "Yeah, surf-line is quiet. Breakers are easy and not very tall. Only a few surfers in the deep water. And just a handful of girls trying to lose their bikini bottoms in the undertow off Agate Beach. Should be a fast run from here to Depoe Bay and back."
Chief Petty Officer Michelson nodded in acknowledgment.
He looked over seaward. In the moderate offshore breeze, the ketch was healed-over nearly to the scuppers; and, looking at her wake, she was probably doing almost seven knots.
Someone's having fun.
That someone was not the boat's owner. Nikki was at the helm. She was wearing her 'Joe Cool' sunglasses and John Deere ball cap with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, which stuck out through the back of the hat.
Running under sails only, the boat was quiet as a whisper. With just the wind in the sails and the waves against the hull, Olivia Nicole Grant was in her element. Mac glanced at Nikki across the small cockpit. Nikki was totally relaxed, but still totally aware. As she steered, her hands barely pulled on the tiller; and, at times, she would play with just steering the boat with her fingertips. She was anticipating what the boat was actually going to do before it did. MacKenzie smiled.
Nikki's dancing. She's using her boat to dance with the sea. It's a beautiful dance to behold.
Nikki saw Jack's head pop up in the hatch. "Want me to take her?"
She smiled broadly, shaking her head,
No.
"You sure?" He looked at her braced feet, her hands gentle on the tiller, and the huge smile on her face.
No, because you're having too much fun. Is there really such a thing as 'too much fun''?
She raised her voice enough to be heard. "You guys having a beer?"
He nodded his head,
Yes.
"Can we have one, too?"
"No!"
"Dad, we're old enough to have beers!" she asserted stubbornly, her mouth threatening a cute little pout.
Wagging a finger, he merely smiled. "You certainly are, but you're driving the boat. Ask again later, when you aren't having so much fun."
Immediately, Mac jumped in. "So, one of you guys wanna steer?"
In answer, Jack just tauntingly held up the cold frosted-bottle and inspected its contents. "Let me think. Hmmmm. Would ya look at that; it's damn-near full!" Taking a long swig of the Corona, he smacked his lips appreciatively and chuckled. "No, you girls just stay up here and enjoy yourselves. Down here, we're all good."
He disappeared below, shouting back over his shoulder, "And, put your life jackets on!"
"But, Daddy ... " Nikki started to whine, but stopped when her dad's head popped back through the hatch. "Yeah, I know; it messes up that 'sexy-young-thing' look you two are striving for."
As he turned back around, Nikki picked up the small self-inflating personal flotation device and sat there thinking; then, she smiled impishly, untied her small bikini-top, slipped it off, and put on the life jacket. Mac giggled and did the same. The PFDs now covered them only marginally more than their tops had; but, on a boat, this particular look might even be considered sexy.
Nicole and MacKenie shared a smile and a thought.
That's right, we're bad!
Spencer laughed. "Everything okay up there?" Jessica and Tammy were sitting next to Spencer; each had a beer, each was wearing shorts and a halter top.
Jack looked at everyone and nodded his head affirmatively. "Nikki grew up with her hands around that tiller handle. She's been steering the boat since she was twelve-years-old. I guarantee you that we're safe." Then he chuckled, adding, "At least, from the ocean anyway."
Nikki stood, slipping the tiller between her butt cheeks, pushing back with her ass to keep the boat from turning, grabbed a winch handle with both hands, and took in the sheet for the main. The boat leaned over a bit more.
Nikki grinned,
Let's see how the 'competition' takes to a little seamanship!
As the boat heeled, the beer suddenly shifted on the table below. Startled, Jess and Tammy squealed, grabbing for their bottles; then, they heard the gleeful giggles from above. Jack and Spencer just smiled.
Brats!
In another hour, they made the turn at the lighthouse taking a reverse heading back to the bay. An hour-and-a-half later, she was standing off Yaquina Bay's entrance, two half-mile-long stone jetties extending out into the ocean. Between the jetties, the water calms; but, already late in the afternoon, there was a pronounced swell with breaking waves across the entrance, so she needed to get the timing just right to slide thru smoothly.
She waited.
Mac looked at her, nervously. "Aren't we going in?"
What are we waiting for?
Nikki raised her voice slightly against the wind, "The waves need to be just right.
"
A few hundred yards astern, the Coast Guard vessel slowed and fell-in behind the ketch. Michelson was curious. "Hand me the 'nocks'," he said just loud enough to be heard over the diesels. Adjusting them, he zoomed in on the ship's cockpit. There were two girls at the tiller, the high-powered binoculars making it look like the young women were only fifty feet away. He immediately spotted the PFDs, the bare skin on their backs, and grinned broadly.
"Evidence camera, please."
This is just too good a picture to pass up.
Puzzled, his young female bosun asked, "You going to write them up, Chief?"
Michelson nodded, yelling back over the engine noise, "Yeah! I just need the photo as evidence, if they balk at the write up."
Taking the US Coast Guard's high-powered and very expensive camera, he framed the shot and sighed with pleasure. The two girls were absolutely exquisite. Just as Nikki and MacKenzie were turning back to check where the Coast Guard MLB was, he fired off the perfect shot. The bridge, the boat at a slight heel, sails-full, a sunny day, the US ensign waving, and two beautiful young women in profile.
They're beautiful. The boat's beautiful. Their breasts are beautiful.
I fucking love summer!
He studied the young blonde woman at the tiller, looking at the waves. He grinned,
S
he's watching the wave sets form.
He looked for any telltale signs of exhaust coming from the engine.
Interesting, she's under sail only. Most recreational sailors use their motors to navigate the entrance to Yaquina Bay through the bar.
Nikki glanced back and saw the Coast Guard behind them; reaching down, she made sure her hand-held VHF radio was on Channel 16-A, the channel the Coast Guard used.
Coast Guard MLB 'Reliant' trailed at low RPMs behind 'Daddy's Girl'. Safely across the entrance's chop, Nikki followed the channel until the last green buoy before the bridge. There, she took the green marker on her starboard side. Technically, it was supposed to be on the port side.
Michelson watched, curious why she passed the channel marker on the wrong side. Everything else she'd done was flawless. Then, he figured it out.
She's setting up with the direction of the wind for the dead spot under the Newport Bridge, a couple of hundred yards of still air. I don't think this is her first time sailing in the Bay. But, it is a great excuse to do a 'safety inspection'.
He watched as she coasted calmly under the bridge. As the wind snagged it again, the boat heeled hard; so she let out sail and the boat righted itself, but the course never varied as it slid smoothly under the bridge, heading upriver.
