Serendipity - Cover

Serendipity

Copyright© 2012 by Tedbiker

Chapter 17

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 17 - Serendipity is a sailing yacht, owned by Ted Quinton, who has escaped the rat-race to live a rather selfish life as a free-lance skipper and charter captain. Girlfriends come and go without any serious commitment until Serendipity is chartered by a young woman wanting a few months' adventure while she can; she's newly pregnant.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Oral Sex   Slow  

We left Brixham early in the morning of the twenty-ninth, under power to run over the rising tide. The wind had veered a little and dropped; the barometer also dropping a little as the high-pressure system reluctantly moved away north-east.

Evania watched as we made our way out of the harbour, but went back to her cabin once we cleared the breakwater. I had offered a day or two at anchor in Fishcombe cove, just outside the harbour. It looked as though, and I was told it was, quite a good anchorage with a nice beach, but neither girl seemed bothered. Despite the likelihood of some poor sailing, with light and cyclonic winds, they wanted to be on their way. Brixham harbour faces north, with a breakwater across the north-east, so we were north-west into Tor Bay, then north-east, then, as there was enough wind for steerage way, we stopped the motor and headed close-hauled towards Portland Bill.

I sat with my arm round Grace for a while, letting Serendipity steer herself, but keeping an eye on the foresail.

"Ted... ?"

I'd heard that tone before from Grace. It's been described as the 'three-note interrogative'.

"Yes, love?" I think I kept the resignation out of my voice. I couldn't think of anything she would ask that would be anything that would really bother me. Or so I thought.

"Could you sleep with another woman and still love me?"

Was this a trick question? One that had no right answer? 'Does my bum look big in this?'

"Grace, I can't think of anything that would stop me loving you. I ... you know I've slept with a lot of women, don't you? You said you'd talked to some of them. Well, I never slept with more than one at a time. I never wanted or needed to. But since we met ... since we first made love ... what we have, is so much more than I ever knew before, that ... why would I want anyone else?"

She snuggled in against me. "You're so sweet!"

Okay, I'd dodged the bullet, if there was one.

"I've been talking to Eva."

Oh. "Eva?"

"Yes. She'd rather be called Eva."

"Oh ... kay. I can do that."

"She ... You remember what I was like when we first met?"

"Not really. It's ... it seems like another life."

"I put on a confident front, but I thought no-one could love me, no-one could want me, because I wasn't pretty, or sexy, and I was pregnant. With another man's child."

"Hush. Don't think that. He or she will be mine and don't forget it."

"I know, lover. When ... as I saw it ... you rejected me, that made things even worse. Despite your explanation. I thought it was an excuse. But when you did make love to me, I gradually began to feel sexy. You built me up. I really hated the idea we'd have to go our separate ways. But I thought, with what you'd given me, that maybe, one day, I'd find a man who thought I was attractive, worth something, for myself. Sailing Serendipity; being trusted to stand a watch, that helped, too."

"Okay..."

"It's just ... I like Eva, and I feel sorry for her. I know I said, 'look but don't touch' ... it may not happen, but ... could you sleep with her and still love me?"

I thought about it. I supposed ... if I was doing so with the knowledge and approval of my wife, my ... soulmate ... I wouldn't be cheating, but it was an uncomfortable idea, none-the-less.

"Grace ... I can't think I'll ever love you any less..."

"I think I can trust you ... but you need to think about this, because it would be easy to make things worse. You think she's attractive, don't you?"

"Oh, yes. Of course."

She left it there, and snuggled some more.

Four hours, and several cups of coffee later, we were only twelve miles off Brixham. Serendipity required constant attention as the wind shifted, but we'd been able to get some south in our course. Portland Bill has a certain reputation, and I was happy to be gaining some sea-room. I was beginning to have regrets about putting to sea though.

In the afternoon, as the wind dropped further, I headed for bed with a Melatonin ... and my wife to help things along. I wondered what Evania... Eva ... thought about the sounds from our cabin, not that Grace was ever noisy, but the cabin was far too stuffy in the late June sun to close the hatch or the skylight. I slept a solid four hours.

If we'd gone inshore, we could have found a land breeze in the morning and a sea breeze in the afternoon. These are caused by the difference in temperature between land and sea. I was more concerned with the hazards of the shore than progress, though, until the evening wore on and we were but twenty-five miles away from Brixham. I started the engine, let it settle to a steady note, and set the throttle for about five knots. The English Channel is a sea super-highway, with big ships coming and going. Some of the ferries are capable of sixty knots, those high-speed 'catamaran' ships. Then there are the oil-tankers and the enormous container vessels, the biggest ships in the world. If we got in their way and their officers weren't watching their radar, we could be run under and they'd never notice. I had every intention of watching all night.

Grace sat up with me until midnight when I sent her off to bed with a kiss. I altered course once to give a 'very large crude carrier' – big oil tanker – a wider berth than they appeared to intend to give me, then made myself some coffee. The hum of the engine was soporific.

Eva appeared at about half-past-four. I was pleased to have her company, but worried a little about her getting enough rest. I said as much.

"I thought I'd get up to watch the dawn," she said. "May I sit with you?"

"Certainly. Glad of the company," I told her. I closed the throttle to idle and disengaged the drive. I sat at the back of the cockpit and patted the seat next to me; Eva hesitated, but sat next to me and we watched the sky lightening to the north-east.

"Grace loves this time," I commented, "so do I."

"But she's missing them. Because of me?"

"This time of year, she can only be awake for one and she likes sunsets too."

We were silent together as the first sliver of liquid gold showed on the horizon, growing slowly to a full disk.

"Grace says you think I'm attractive."

Whoa! I so do not want to go there... "Yes, I do. Very much so."

"But you love Grace," she said. Then, after a longish pause, "Pity." Sigh. "Would you like coffee?"

"I would, but I need to sleep shortly. I wouldn't mind a mug of Redbush."

"Okay. Bacon sandwich?"

"That would go down nicely."

She went below and I heard faint clattering sounds as she worked in the galley. As she did, I realised that the sails, which had been fore-and-aft with the created wind of our powered passage were not slatting around, but had swung over to port and Serendipity was actually sailing. Slowly, 'tis true, but just about above steerage-way. I shut the motor down altogether, trimmed up and went to check the GPS and chart. What wind there was was southerly which was about as good as it got for us. I anticipated that it would veer and increase as the day wore on. We were about eighty miles from Brighton, where there is an artificial harbour with excellent facilities. That sounded good to me. If the wind did pick up, we could be there the next day. I tuned in for the shipping forecast.

"General synopsis; high, 1034, Viking, moving north-east. Developing low, 982, Atlantic, expected Rockall 0600 hours tomorrow..."

Then the sea areas, which I recorded dutifully, though the relevant part was "Dover, Wight, Portland, southerly one or two, veering and increasing, south west four or five. Fair, slight becoming moderate, good."

In other words, no rain, smooth sea getting a little rougher with good visibility.

At seven-thirty, Eva took the wheel away from me; "Go, wake your wife and have some married time," she said with a smile, "I'll be fine for a few minutes and If I see anything I'll call for help."

In our cabin, I stripped off and slid under the cover. Grace immediately moved to me and I kissed her; she sighed contentedly and I slowly revisited her curves with my hands

"Oh, Ted ... that feels good..."

"It does." I dipped to suck her nipples and she groaned, holding my head in position. My hand found that she was rapidly moistening, so I gently stroked her labia before circling her clit. Then, she pushed me over to my back and mounted me, holding my hands to her breasts. When I came, she followed closely and held me in her as long as she could, then cleaned me up ... okay, you don't really want the details, do you? I liked it, anyway.

They let me sleep. As tired as I was, I was out almost eight hours. By the time I woke, Grace had Serendipity on a broad reach and she was making near enough five knots again. They'd seen several ships and a cross-Channel ferry, but hadn't needed to alter course. We'd made good progress and were south of the Isle of Wight.

"I was thinking of putting in to Brighton Marina," I said as we ate together.

Grace looked at me, head cocked. "Why?"

"I thought you'd like a break," I said. "Showers and proper sleep. Fresh food."

"I want to go home," she said, "I want to make a start on finding a home, get Eva into pre-natal. We've got perfect conditions and could be home in three days. We've plenty of food, plenty of water, and more than enough diesel to get us out of trouble and into a port if we need to."

I thought about it and shrugged. "If that's what you want, my Love, then that's what we shall do. Have you discussed this with Eva?"

"Yes. She's in agreement. I really think it's going to work out well; I've got an idea to discuss with you, but not now."

We altered course a little to the north. That gave us a quartering breeze, still on starboard tack.

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