Summer Sailing
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2017 by HAL

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - My name is Chris, this is a 'true' story about my flotilla sailing holiday in Greece with a bunch of girls.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Consensual  

That year was the warmest on record for forty years, so the BBC said. The Sun said forty-five years, the Telegraph said forty-one. It was hot, we could all agree on that. There had been flash fires on the moors as the peat dried and warmed and caught. Some suggested they were deliberately set, some that an accidental match could start it. Extra vigilance required, that was the message. Generally, I think people took note.

The sailing holiday had been great, though I’d kept covered up a lot of the time. I burn easily even with the best sun cream. Though the chance of having a girl put sun cream on my back, and for me to reciprocate, was lost on me, I still enjoyed the sight of the girls in the crew, and other crews in bikini tops. Most wore shorts and a top. On my boat, only Mel lay in her bikini top and bottom, sunning herself until I told her to cover up. Melanoma wasn’t known then, sun burn was. Truth was I was having a job keep woody down at the sight of her tight little bottom covered (and I do mean covered) by pants which she would regularly slip down another millimetre if she could get away with it. One had to be careful, telling her she was exposing herself would be to admit one was looking – and I was! Her arse crack was slowly hoving into view and woody was not keen to ignore it. Telling her to cover up to prevent sunburn was a good excuse.

This was the annual mixed church camp, I was twenty now and in charge of one the boats. Every year the young people from several of the churches in the town would travel to the Lakes. We used to camp and hire large dinghies. By this time we had moved to taking over the Independent Youth Hostel for a week; still hired the dinghies though. A whole bunch of Wayfarers, large, stable boats where a group of four or five (or even six at a push) mixed crew could get to know how to talk to the opposite sex as humans rather than lust objects or aliens, learn to sail, and, of course, attend to the needs of religion (in the evenings). There was no effing or blinding when a boom hit someone’s head or a hand got caught between side and mooring post. It was great fun and I’d been going for several years; since I was fourteen in fact (the youngest age allowed, which was good); had my first snog, first girl friend, first cigarette – all in that first holiday. What’s not to like? Later years also saw first touch up, first break up, first unrequited love (lust) – Imogen, the most beautiful girl I (or any of the other boys) had ever seen. She is a model now, so it wasn’t just the hormones speaking, she genuinely was a cracker.

Now I was twenty; at university; maybe not quite such a virgin as I had been. But not some devil may care, free love, guy. I was a good boy to have as a boyfriend. Sam and I had been together most of the year, but she’d opted to call a halt in the late summer term; a decision I have to say I resented at first but agreed with later. We had been good company together but should never have been lovers. So, I was twenty and good enough now to have been given WY ~~3 to skipper. The ~~ was because the letters had fallen off the sail. Never knew what they were meant to be. We called it the Why Me.

On my boat I had Dave – fourteen, first time away with us, first time away from home, quiet, studious and, I could see, having similar challenges with his trousers as Mel lowered her bikini bottoms inexorably; Mel of course – fifteen years of burgeoning sexuality, she would leave the church soon, then later join a Christian Sect where the leader preached open relationships and be pregnant by seventeen; Tony – a girl of sixteen, pretty (as nearly every girl that age is) in a not very striking way, more of her later; and Geoff – also sixteen, never sailed before, hated it from day one and quickly opted to stay ashore and read instead. This kind of thing was discouraged, but accepted since some people just didn’t take to it; and having someone not willing to leap around a boat could put the others at more risk.

Tony shared her dorm room with Joanne and Sarah, seventeen and eighteen respectively. More of them later too. I spend a lot of time trying to encourage Dave and Mel to take more interest in sailing. “Yes, good, just try adjusting the sails. Pull in, see the bulge at the front?” Dave smirked, and I smiled at him; we shared a private moment. “That means the wind is getting in front of the sail. Let it out and see it flap? The wind usually doesn’t stay constant, so you have to keep an eye the sail all the time. No, don’t worry, it becomes second nature after a while, like staying upright on a bike” I think I succeeded with Dave, we stayed in touch for a while and he joined his school sailing club; I failed with Mel, who wanted a tan. I don’t think she was aware of her affect on Dave and me.

Tony, it was clear, could sail pretty well already. I made her my unofficial First Mate as I was confident she could cope with helming. By the end of that week we were both sailing the boat back to the moorings rather than the official policy of stopping in space and taking the sails down and rowing in. We were good at it. As long as we didn’t wreck the boat, a blind eye was turned by Commodore (Reverend Jones – ex- Olympic competitor). Even, once, when the wind was dead on shore, turning the boat head to wind, backing the jib and reversing in. I got chucked in the water by Tom, Harry and Mads for being a show off (since Harry and Mads were girls and had their hands all over me, I didn’t struggle too much).

You might think sex is appearing a little too much in a church ‘camp’ but we were all full of hormones and desire, religion doesn’t stop that, it maybe gives you more ability to resist, that’s all.

Tony was, of course, really Antonia; she’d opted for Tony rather than Toni to shorten it. Fair enough, I suppose. “I’m Tony, with a y she’d say” “Why?” people would ask “That’s right” she’d reply. As I said before, she was pretty in that standard sixteen year old way that girls have. Lithe I suppose is the term I’d use; somewhere between boyish and buxom. Some girls develop faster than others; Mel was more developed than Tony, and a year younger. Tony didn’t seem to mind. She was slightly wary of boys, I thought; but we got on well. I never made a pass at her or anything and perhaps that’s why I got the phone call.

She went to St Barnabas, the old church in the village on the edge of town. I went to The Mission. In 1870 it had been a mission to the new working class growing in the industrial western area of the town. Now it was more of a standard church, but still evangelical in outlook; lots of vibrant tunes; and lots of young people. I’d gone there in preference to Mum and Dad’s staid Methodist leanings. Dad went at Christmas, Mum went at Christmas and a few other Sundays. Not like they were dedicated Methodist or anything, but they still resented me leaving ‘their’ church. Tony Moran – another Tony, but he was the current leader at the Methodists – didn’t seem to mind, I met him a few times and I know he told Mum that it was better I went to the Mish than no-where.

The week after, I was in London and she was up at UCL looking at their History Dept. It was one of the outreach sessions that universities did periodically; supposed to encourage kids to think about university in the future. I doubt that it changed many minds. The middle-class ones like Tony (or me) assumed they’d go, the working-class ones probably didn’t go to these sessions because they had holiday jobs. She’d mentioned she was going (because they were fun things to do quite often) and we arranged to meet after for an hour. “Daddy’s booked a sailing boat! He said that since I could sail now we could all go and there would be enough to handle a large boat. I’m really looking forward to it.” This was in Greece. Did I mention how hot the summer was? In London it had reached thirty four centigrade (should use Celsius now I suppose), in Greece, people were dying in Athens of heatstroke. Highest so far was forty seven! Still, on the sea would be cooled. She was very excited. Her father had told her she could bring a friend. Tarquin, her brother was coming. She was liked him and loathed him in equal amounts, but at the moment, he was in her good books. She was so excited!

Then I got the phone call, “You busy in a week’s time? Say no, pleeese”

“Why, Tony with a y?” That’s what I called her.

“Dad can’t make it now, and so Tarquin isn’t coming either. Mummy has said we could still go if we found someone else who could sail. She can sail a bit, and I’m alright, and I invited Sarah and she’d said yes, and if you say yes I’ll invite Joanne too cos. we got on well and we can all sail a bit, but we need someone good like you. My sister Fred is really upset” Fred was Frederica “and if you came Mummy said it would be alright and” she finally drew breath and I managed to speak.

“Why would your Mum say it would be alright if someone she’s never met was coming to sail the boat?”

“I can’t tell you, oh, maybe,” she lowered her voice “Mum said if we could possibly go then we would, just to show the sodding B-. She didn’t say B, she used the whole word”

I had already heard stories about her father, he sounded an unmitigated, first rate, selfish shit. When Tony was ten, he had booked to take them to Disney in Florida. Then, a week beforehand, work had got in the way, he had to go to Chicago, he said. He cancelled the trip and the two girls were devastated. Tarquin – who was the youngest – got to go to Disney a few years later, but the two girls never did. Later, talking to Cheryl, their mother, I found that she assumed this, like the sudden change of plan about sailing was as much because of the chance of getting his leg over with some young totty as for business reasons.

I went round to the house a day later; it was my suggestion. I think Cheryl would have gone with or without me and stayed in the harbour the whole time if necessary. She was sick of him messing the family around. She was less concerned about his infidelities, I think. Perhaps less concerned because she was used to it by now. I found all this out later.

The house was a large house, set back from the road. A converted farm house I think. Kevin (the father’s name) was working late, and Tarquin was at his friend’s house down the road. I didn’t meet either of them then, I’m pleased to say. Tarquin sounded like he had learnt to treat people in the same cavalier, selfish way as his father. Years later, when I was a lecturer at Oxford Brookes I heard a braying voice in the city calling “Tarqs, Tarquin! Come on, we have to have some Pims before” It was the weekend of a rowing regatta. A young man, I assume it was Tarquin, wandered up and joined his friend. Was this the same Tarquin? How many bloody Tarquins are there? Who knows; but I got a secret pleasure in observing that he was as ugly as sin. Malicious I know, I’ve lost some of my Christian charity over the years.

Tony opened the door for me and introduced me. “Hello Mrs McKintrick, lovely to meet you, you have a nice home” I’d been practicing that, and still got it round the wrong way “I mean you have a lovely home”

“Chris? Call me Cheryl, please. Come in.” Here was the only mother I’ve ever met where one could truly, honestly say about her and her daughter ‘you could be sisters’. Clearly she had been a young mother, but she was still a stunner. She was wearing high heels – she said she’d just come in, but Tony admitted that her mother always liked to look good; I did wonder if that undermined Tony’s self confidence at all, having to compete with a sexy, glamorous, young mother. In the lounge, a full size painting of Kevin (just Kevin, not Kevin and family) hung over the mantelpiece. If it was accurate, it was plain he was well-built and liked to work out; he was in an expensive suit, I could tell that even with my disinterested eyes. I wore my hair in the fashion of the student times: long. I would like to say it hung in beautiful waves, lapping over my shoulders; but I was cursed then (and blessed now) with curly hair, so it bushed out whatever I did. It was clean and brushed but not ‘kempt’- looking. Now, with the loss of so much, it still gives a good impression of a thick head of hair because of it’s curliness; so there are silver linings. Bodywise, I was on the side of weedy rather than well built. I was thin and wiry. I often gave a bad first impression to well-bred, Christian families used to short back and sides and collar and tie; but actually I was genuinely quite a nice guy. Not some loud, annoying, spotty dick!

Cheryl McKintrick was about five feet, seven inches. In her two inch heels she stood about the same as me. I would never estimate a woman’s weight – too often overestimated and created a crisis of huge proportions. ‘Am I overweight?’ should only have one answer - ‘no’; not an appraising look to give an honest opinion ‘Well, you could lose a pound or two’. I finally learned to prevaricate on questions like that – but she looked good. She had a tight red dress on, which certainly suggested she had no unseemly rolls of fat and already had her ‘beach body’ ready; an impression confirmed later. If this was how she dressed around the house, I wondered how she dressed to go out. I also wondered how she would cope with the sloppy clothes sailing would require.

I had worn my best flares and cheesecloth shirt. I thought I looked great, until I met Cheryl McKintrick, when I realised I looked crap. She didn’t seem to mind. We talked about sailing and holidays and then Fred came in. A fourteen year old girl with a fourteen year old’s body. In her favour, she immediately formed a fondness for me. I was so different to her father; that was a mark in my favour apparently, given that her father was such a shit to everybody. Cheryl was content since I went to church; even though not their little security-against-the-outside-world Anglican self-satisfied church; she seemed to think that I had morals. And so it was agreed; we would all fly out of Luton airport in a weeks time, Cheryl, Tony, Fred, Sarah and Joanne, and myself. I had even offered to pay for the flight, but Cheryl explained, as we headed towards the front door, that the flight was paid for “and the b- can pay for it still for messing us around” She never actually said ‘bastard’ I don’t think; she would say ‘b-’., at least, in my hearing. Still, she told Tony (who told me) that she was impressed that an impoverished student would suggest he should pay his way; she liked that.

My parents were happy enough that I was going. I had intended to get a job, but it was hardly worth it now. They were getting used to having the house to themselves again, so they weren’t sorry to see me go. My wardrobe had some of Mum’s winter clothes in it. They liked having the extra space. So there was no opposition when I told them I was going to Greece for two weeks. I may have forgotten to mention the sex of Tony and Fred, it sounded like a mixed group that way. Not that there would have been any real problem, it was just easier this way. I was looking forward to the sailing. I really was. The boats would be part of a flotilla; so, although you could use the on board charts if you wanted, you could also just follow the lead boat. I spent a week reading up on navigation, working out how to calculate tidal heights and the length of anchor chain needed. Then my Dad laughed and said “Greece? In the Mediterranean? How much of a tide will there be?” Oh, bugger! Ah, well, never mind. I thought.

It stayed hot across the whole of Europe. I bought extra sun crème, shorts, and a hat. That was my summer wardrobe complete. Tony phoned and told me how she and Fred were off to Lakers (the big department store) to look for new swimming costumes “I thought you had one Tony? You wore the top at the camp”

“Chris, that would be hopeless for swimming; the top might come off, and the material went opaque – do I mean opaque? When it got wet anyway, it didn’t hide everything it should.”

“Oh, right. Yes, I suppose so then.”

“I’ll bring it for sunbathing though, the bottoms are somewhat briefer than Mel’s; I thought the churches might not approve. You would though” she giggled down the phone.

“Translucent?”

“?”

“When it got wet it went translucent? I’m sure you don’t mean transparent” I wanted to add ‘more’s the pity’, but just because she was flirting with me, I didn’t know if I could flirt with her.

“Oh, yes”

Chapter 2 »

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