Damn she was beautiful. I couldn't believe something was actually going right in my life. Not that I was destitute or anything. But my relationships with women were—well—a mess. No, it must be the wrong boat, and besides she's married.
I reevaluated my situation. I didn't need this. Since my latest divorce, I had met many good-looking women. It's just that nothing seemed to work with them. I was hoping she would be ugly, so I could keep my raging hormones in check. I just wanted to sail. As I drew near, I made out the name on the transom—it was the right boat. It was Linda and she was gorgeous.
She stood about 5'4". Her red hair shone in the early morning sunlight. She was dressed in shorts and a blue top. Her clothes revealed an athletic almost muscular build, most appropriate for a woman I estimated to be in her early 40s. As I stopped at the boat, she turned and a radiant smile and twinkling blue eyes greeted me.
"Hello, are you Chuck?"
"Yes, you're Linda, I assume."
Her strong hand grasped mine to help me over the side. As she bent, her top fell slightly open. I had a brief glance at the tops of some beautiful breasts. There was an immediate reaction in my pants. I felt guilty of some crime. I'd been offered a free ride, and I was already sneaking peeks at the Captain's wife.
Speaking of Captains, I saw a large body emerge from the companionway.
"So you're Chuck. I'm Steve. I guess you already met Linda." His eyes went from me to her and back to me. The jealous type I guessed.
Weakly I replied, "Yes." Not too good a start.
Calming myself, and my prick (and secretly calling myself a "prick"), I listened to Steve's instructions. He stood about 6' with gray/blond hair and, oh who the hell cares what men look like anyway. I ruefully admitted I was jealous already. Steve seemed a bit older say about 55. Was she his "trophy wife?" Perhaps she would prefer a younger man like me?
Get a grip, I thought. That's the end of another of my silly daydreams. That's all I need, to get into a mess with a married women on a boat in the middle of the Gulf with a large, mad husband and nowhere to run.
I missed most of Steve's safety talk, as I was distracted. In spite of my attempt to ignore her, the brief look at Linda's breasts was consuming my mind. I moved so she was behind me, but she was so busy that she kept coming into view. Then she bent to secure a line, and I had a good look at a well-rounded derriere. Damn, I thought, I had best get off the boat now.
All I caught of Steve's talk was that he was in charge of sailing, and she was in charge below. Fair enough I thought. I'm a good sailor, so I knew I would be helpful.
We were on our way to Key West. After my second divorce, I still had plenty of money for life, so I quit my job and headed to St Petersburg. I loved to sail, but single-handed boating wasn't something I wanted. While contemplating purchasing a boat at a dealer, I mentioned to the salesman that I had never sailed in Florida and was unsure what type of boat I needed. He had arranged for me to sail to Key West with Linda and Steve. They had had another passenger, set to sail with them, but last minute emergencies had caused her to drop out. They were looking for another hand.
We motored most of the way through Tampa Bay, then set sail on a course of 175 degrees. We had a strong easterly breeze, so it looked like we could make good time with few sail changes. We had little to do but sit and chat.
My problem with Linda increased. Not only was she drop-dead beautiful, she was also intelligent. All I had met were airhead women in the last year. Linda was so different. She was equally comfortable discussing world events, politics and philosophies of life. Her eclectic taste in music resulted in jazz, oldies and even some country and western to coming over the boats sound system. To my surprise, I learned she was 52 and they had been married for a long time.
By mid afternoon, it was hot and she changed into a thin shirt with no bra. Damn, her breasts looked perfect. She was a hard worker and soon broke a sweat. Her shirt turned more transparent. I could make out her cherry colored nipples. My erection became difficult to conceal. Most boating women dress in similar outfits. Life at sea leaves little room for modesty, so neither she nor Steve seemed to notice my problem.
And so, the afternoon passed. I talked to Linda and Steve spent time with his new sextant. After a noon sight of the sun and an hour of cursing over his calculations, we all had a good laugh when Steve proudly announced that we were somewhere off the coast of Brazil.
At about 3 P.M. we saw a thunderstorm approaching. The weather radio announced that the storm was moving East. Steve altered course West. The storm seemed to follow us.
"Linda, grab the wheel, Chuck and I are going to shorten sail."
Steve and I struggled with the main and finally secured two reefs. All the while I stole glances at Linda. She looked like an Amazon queen although a short one. The muscles in her arms flexed, and her red hair flew as she struggled with the rising wind to hold course.
We started to furl the jib before the storm stuck. It wouldn't come down. There we were on a pounding boat, the jib out full and the storm approaching. Linda was too small to hold the wheel. Steve relieved her.
"Chuck, we got to get the jib down. You take the wheel, Linda and I will go forward to fix it."
"Let me do it," I said. "I've got some experience with furler drums." Which I had.
As the storm rose in intensity, Linda and I crept forward. I admired her dexterity. I also admired her butt as she went ahead of me. She was now wearing a swimsuit bottom and a white button-up shirt.
The plan was that I would lay flat and to fix the jammed jib furler. She would sit at my feet and hand over tools. I lay on my stomach and began to explore the mechanism. I yelled, "screwdriver." Linda fished one from the sack. Then, as she was too short, she knelt between my legs, and leaned forward to hand it to me. As I twisted to look for the tool, the wind and her bent position opened the front of her shirt. Her naked breasts were exposed. They were perfect.
Quickly I lay back and probed the furler. The problem was obvious. A setscrew on a retaining pin was out of place. A quick twist of the screwdriver and all would be fixed. I moved the screwdriver to the screw. I placed it in the slot. I didn't twist.
"Now I need a wrench." Again Linda complied. I was rewarded with another picture of perfect red-tipped mounds. This time I noticed she only had two buttons fastened at the bottom. Had they been that way when we started forward? Had she unfastened more when I wasn't looking? Was it the wind?
I again pretended to do some repairs with the wrench. Did she know I was faking? The wind rose even higher, so I decided it was time to end the situation. "Screwdriver", I yelled.
Again I was rewarded with the gloriously open blouse. This time I hesitated slightly to look. Her shoulders twitched. Had she moved them to give me a better look? I looked into her laughing blue eyes. They revealed nothing. Was I being purposely teased?
Jib fixed we both began the perilous journey back to the cockpit. Along the way, I managed to smash both my shins; I was checking her ass and nursing another hard-on instead of watching my handholds.
The storm struck with a fury. Pounding rain, 40-knot winds, gusts to whatever, and high seas made our life miserable for the next hour. Thank god the jib was down, or we would have lost it. In the midst of the storm, Linda produced hot coffee and delicious shrimp pasta. Wow, beautiful, sexy, a good sailor, excellent cook, a bit of a flirt and a tease. What a woman. I wanted her for my own. How I envied Steve.
.... There is more of this story ...