Chapter 21

Dave's turn:

We have Carlita registered for college, major to be determined. We had a long talk. The local school board was willing to foot the costs of some of her college if she promised to teach when she graduated.

Carlita's not stupid. She talked with Pat, my sister, who IS a teacher in public school.

"My students WANT to be in my classes," Carlita said. "Pat's students, some of them do NOT want to be in school. I am not ready for a life of dealing with that."

So me being a semi-sentient male who recognizes that he's hit the lottery, I don't push her. I know my Lita. I know that she'll get a direction soon enough, and to be quite honest, if she wants to spend four years in college and come out with a BA in Medieval Literature, I'm good with it.

"It is not an easy thing, Dave," she said in a communicative cuddle one evening. "So much of America I am learning. In Guatemala, maybe if I am educated to high school level, I can be a shop girl or work in an office. Now I am in America, where people do everything. Girls –women do everything." She kissed me. "What should I do?"

"You should be Carlita. If you want to be a shop girl, then be a shop girl..."

"I don't. I want more. Like my Dave. Like my family."

"Then go to college. The first semester or two, take courses that will give you credit towards most of the other degrees. And if you decide, then you can take another path."

"I only take a path that has Dave walking beside me," she said.

I kissed her back. "I shall be at your side."

Weekends on the boat. It's summer on the Gulf Coast and it's still too hot and humid and mosquito-infested to spend the night on the water, but just about every weekend we're out. Lita's the coolest crew I could ever imagine.

She came back from a shopping excursion with Brindy and Pat one day. I got home about the same time she did, having put myself on the road for work, a couple of days out of town.

"So what'd you buy?"

"Brindy said I need a new bathing suit."

"Nothing wrong with the one you have," I said. I was picturing her in that conservative two-piece.

"Let me model this one for you. I will be right back." She left the room with a smirk on her lips. I heard, "Close your eyes, Dave..."

I closed my eyes.

"Now you may open them. I hope you like it."

On whatever scale bikinis might be measured, it wasn't completely over the edge, but on Carlita, honey-colored skin, slender body, those hips, long legs, the perfect breasts, the bright yellow fabric was like highlighting text on a page. I couldn't think of words.

"You don't like it," she said sadly.

"No, no, I love it. You're beautiful. It makes you hot ... I want you to be..."

"I am hot for you, Dave," she said. "This is for the boat. Other people may see it, but it is for YOU."

"C'mere," I said. "Never in my life have I held a girl who can wear a bikini like that."

She almost leaped into my lap. Beautiful. Sometimes she knows it, like now, and it's wonderful that she's given herself to me.

"Look," she said. She reached behind her neck and tugged at a bow. The top fell free of those delectable titties. "I think it comes off very easily." She wrapped me in her arms, trapping one of my hands over her right titty. "I think that is a selling point."

So on our jaunts out of the marina, she wore that bikini, covered of course, with a big, loose cotton shirt as a concession to the summer's ferocious sun.

The autopilot got a workout, too. I may never be a member of the Mile-High Club but I have multiple participation points in the Motoring down a ship channel in a small boat Club.

Okay – truth. There is ONE way to do overnight in the summer without the mosquitoes and the heat. It's not totally without risk, but if you sail out about ten miles into the Gulf, that takes care of the mosquitoes. And if you tie up to one of the many offshore structures, parts of the offshore oil and gas infrastructure, you can be reasonably secure, and the heat?

Sleep nude. Under the moonlight, in the cockpit. At sunset, the Bimini top comes down, giving us an unfettered view of the sky. The gentle rocking of the boat in the waves is hypnotic, as is the sight of a nude Carlita in the moonlight. It's magical.

I know she's a child of the city, mostly, in Guatemala, but I get to see her transformed in the moonlight to a creature of the mountain forests, lithe, athletic, sleek, beautiful, and maybe I am just a tiny bit biased, but I never dreamed of seeing a girl naked, standing at the prow of my old boat. But there she was.

And she was in my arms.

We slept. I have a few slats I can use in the cockpit to let us use the mattresses from the main cabin. We used those so we could sleep side by side. We woke up only when the sun rose.

I raised up to look over the coaming before I stood, naked. No boats around, not close enough, anyway. Lita stood, equally naked, stretched. Looked at me. smiled.

"We did HOW many times? Three? Four?"

"I did four. You?"

"I do not count mine. There are so many. It is how many times I have you inside me. So, yes, four." She knelt on the mattress, turned her face up to look into mine. That's Lita's augmentation to a good morning kiss. I'm all for it. She releases me.

"Perhaps a quick swim, after we put away our bed?"

"Sounds good," I said. We stowed the mattresses and slats, then had breakfast – granola bars, cold cuts and bread and iced drinks, then I watched a real life naiad knife off the deck into the water. I joined her. We swam a bit, letting the warm Gulf water cleanse us, then we climbed the stern ladder back into the boat and hosed off with fresh water.

She started the engine preparatory to getting underway while I handled the bow line holding us to the structure. I cast us loose, the bow of the boat shearing away in the breeze, and once clear, she took the helm while I hoisted the sail.

We sliced off toward the distant channel entry. While she maintained course and sail set, I pulled the Bimini top up to offer us shade. She's a natural. She smiles, a foot maintaining the proper course with the wheel, eying the sail.

"I'll get dressed when we get closer. I could be one of those naked people, Dave."

"Nudist?"

"Yes, nudist. I could be a nudist if you were the only one to ever see me. This is for you." She smiled. "And I would not like other women to see your ... dick. Is MY dick."

I was actually saddened when we hit the first marker for the channel's off shore terminus. However, the approach of two large service boats headed out to the offshore rigs served to underline our need.

She pulled on her OTHER swimsuit, not the bikini. With the bottoms covering those sweet rounded cheeks, she minced up, put a titty in my face. "One. I need you to do one..."

I sucked it hungrily, feeling the responsive little nipple harden to my tongue. She backed up, shrugged her way into that stretchy swimsuit top. Still sexy. She took the helm from me while I stood to put on my trunks.

"You. Step here." Her eyes sparkled.

I stepped close and she took me into her mouth. Takes my breath away. Every time.

"You are my Dave and this is something I love from my Dave," she said.

The wind was favorable for us to make most of the trip back home under sail. As they say, the fuel economy is great.A week later, I come home, get my naked Carlita and something's missing.

"Lita?"

She grinned. "Yes, my Dave?"

"Your pubic hair..."

"I have no pubic hair. Brindy and I were talking and she says that she and Pat both remove theirs. That it saves them the problem of having a hair in one's mouth at an improper moment. So I am shaved." She looked at my face, looking for signs of disapproval. "If you do not like it, it will grow back."

"I like it." Inside my head I'm thinking that this is pure Pat. Pat's shaved pussy ... Well, I'm not supposed to be thinking of my sister's pussy, am I? "Let's go try it out."

A week after that, though, was a bit of a shocker. You see, Carlita is attached to Brindy and Pat. Pat never has been on my boat, a result, I think, of our history together. Of course, neither has Brindy, her having arrived late on the scene. Naturally, I operate on the assumption that Carlita knows none of the history between me and Pat, so she invites Brindy and Pat out one Saturday.

She told me the plan. I signed off on it. Had no reason not to, really. So the four of us motor out of the marina early one Saturday morning. Brindy and Pat get the Grand Tour of the boat from Carlita.

The three of them emerged from the cabin wearing those big floppy cotton shirts over bathing suits. I know Carlita's wearing her bikini today. If the light's right I can see ... Yes, Pat's wearing one as well. Her shadow passes Brindy, then the light hits Brindy. She's wearing an old-fashioned one-piece.

Brindy and Pat settled into one of the settees and Carlita shoved me aside by the expedient of plopping down beside me and swishing her hips sideways.

"Go change, Dave," she said.

"Yes, cap'n," I replied.

"Yeah. Go put on your swimsuit," Pat echoed. When I glanced over, she had a smile.

Heading south in the channel in the summertime means that we motored the whole way. We passed up a popular landing where recreational boaters beached to swim.

"We cannot get close to shore there," Carlita told Brindy and Pat. "Our keel is too deep. We have stopped there, though, and anchored. But mostly we have our spot. It is further away, but it is mostly private."

I have a strong suspicion that Carlita has given them some idea of what use privacy might be.

We motored on. Closer to the outlet to the Gulf, we were discovered by a pod of dolphins, much to our amusement. Dolphins and sailboats are a happy pairing. They stayed with us, Brindy squealing excitedly as the dolphins cavorted alongside and ahead of us.

The dolphins stayed in the deepwater channel when we turned out of it, though. A half an hour later, I dropped anchor.

"Here?" Pat said. "It's wide open..."

"It is here," Carlita said. "We can hear other boats coming. They will come and they will go. We stay here. If we are in the water, they can see nothing..."

I'm thinking about what shouldn't be seen if we're just a bunch of people in bathing suits.

I need to do a better job of thinking. Really, I do.

Carlita stood, peeled that loose shirt off. I thought she'd just dive over the side.

I would be wrong. She kept undressing. My Lita. Little nudist.

"There!" she announced, and then she dove overboard.

"She really did it," Brindy said. "She said she would..."

"And we said we would, too," Pat said.

"I know, but that was in the living room at home. This is out here. In the open. And it's REAL."

"Are you?" Pat asked, standing.

Brindy's face steeled. "Yes. I am. I need to get over this." She stood and Pat started peeling her own shirt off.

Flabbergasted, I just sat there, watched Pat strip, not my first time seeing that, mind you. Brindy was another story. She turned away from me as she took her shirt off. Pat helped her out of her bathing suit. I noted Pat's distinct lack of shame at appearing naked in front of me.

Brindy, however, finally turned. Pat, I'd seen naked. Carlita, I'd seen naked. This was my first view of Brindy, the standard brown-haired girl. She was a bit plump, juicy is a good term. No bush. Pat's thing, apparently. Breasts a little bigger than Pat's, HUGE compared to my sweet Carlita, with a bit of sag.

Carlita's head was watching us over the stern where she'd climbed the ladder. "They have no clothes, Dave. It is your turn."

"Yeah, come on, Bro. Get with the program. Let's swim." Brindy was balancing on the edge of the deck when I stood up and slid my trunks down. Pat looked. Smiled. I was half erect.

Carlita's head disappeared when Brindy splashed into the water. Pat kept looking. "Come on, Dave. Let's take the plunge together."

I KNOW she meant it as a double entendre, but we did his the water together.