Chapter 8

DAY SEVEN

So we woke early, all looked out to check we were okay. It was bright, clear and, from the sky, still blowing hard, but not as hard. I stood in my pants, made a pot of tea and poured two. A voice behind me said “Nice arse” which I took to be ironical.

“There’s tea in the pot if you want one. See you later” And went back to bed. Sarah curled round me, sipped her tea and then drifted off to sleep again.

I woke at 11am. Sarah slept on. I went out and checked the anchor, checked for damage. We seemed to be unscathed. I looked up and saw Mrs Handcook (we all assumed you had to be married to him to put up with him) looked round her boat. She was in jeans and a bra. Clearly dressing was optional after a storm, since I was still in just my pants. We waved, I went below and fell back into bed.

I woke at 12:15 to the smell of fresh coffee and bread. Fresh bread! Where had that come from?

“Mrs Haddock rowed over and asked if we wanted anything from the shop, she said Captain was still asleep. She did! She called him Captain.” So she’d gone to the shops, bought bread and come back. Clearly not such a mouse as we had imagined. And her radio technique was calm and well organised. People can always surprise can’t they?

Later I rowed over with Tony and we had a conflab. We agreed that we’d wait until the wind had died more before going back to see what the damage was.

“I have to admit, son” said Haddock “I thought you were some long-haired hippy type. I said so, didn’t I Katie? I said ‘Look, there’s a hippy, a spell in the army would do him good’. But you handled that boat brilliantly. And spotted the entrance. Very well done!”

I couldn’t let him get away with his patronising praise entirely Scot free “Thanks. Can’t take all the credit. Tony, here, did the helming and I did the navigation. And you, Katie is it? Yes, your calm radio voice was excellent. It helped us knowing that messages were clear and concise. Thanks once again for the bread, you sure you won’t take the money for it?” Katie beamed, clearly unused to praise. Haddock looked at the ‘mere slip of a girl’ - I could tell what he was thinking – and smiled too. I had to admit, sailing that two-handed (maybe one-handed, given her experience) was quite impressive for Haddock, just because you are an arrogant, patronising bully doesn’t mean you aren’t a good sailor.

As we rowed back, I said “Don’t think the army would suit me”

“Not enough sex?”

“No, too much regimentation I think.” The crack about sex seemed a little unfair since my last few days had probably doubled my average for the year – not including sex with myself of course. “BTW, [yes, I did say that] I meant what I said about you being good at the helm. It made life much easier”

“Ha! Couldn’t have done it without me eh?”

“Well, not without substantially more histrionics from the rest of the crew”

“You mean Mummy. She doesn’t handle stress well, you may have noticed.”

“I picked up the hint of that, yes”

We landed back on our boat and discussed what to do. “Well,” said Cheryl “I hate to be the bossy boots” Oh no, what’s coming, I thought. “But Chris and Sarah have some unfinished business. At least I assume its unfinished, either that or he really is a super-stud” The girls all giggled and I went red. Sarah came to my rescue.

“No, we did let other things take priority. And yes, I do think that matter needs to be attended to with some urgency now. Now Chris!”

I’m not sure how it came about that I could be ordered below to service a virgin, but I suppose it would have been useless to protest against the monstrous regiment of sexy women. Fred was laughing the loudest now, I wondered if she’d be able to resist stories at school; thank goodness she was past the age of ‘What I Did on My Holidays’ school reports, else the police would be knocking on my door, I was sure. Or would they? I had no idea what was actually legal with a fourteen year old (nearly fifteen), outside the no full sex of course. The others opted to row ashore and explore the town. That would take five minutes; it wasn’t a big town; it was barely a village.

Left on the boat alone, we went below and tidied up the bed. Then we lay on the covers – it was getting hot – I removed her clothes very slowly after undressing myself. I’ve always thought that undressing a man was functional factual thing, unwrapping a woman was like the best wrapped pass the parcel game in the world. Even lying down her chest was bigger than most of the others standing up! She saw me looking at them “I know, they are too big aren’t they.”

“I think, [suck suck] that they [suck] are [kiss, suck] lovely and very, [suck kiss suck] very [suck, nip] very sexy.” And I did. I wondered later if they would get bigger again when she had a baby. I doubt that. Probably like a male cock, some get bigger when they get erect. Quite often the big, floppy ones just get big and stiff, not bigger and stiff. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

My hands slid round her bottom and tried to explore in. She looked pained when I found it hard to get my fingers far enough into her crack. “Turn over, I want to see all of you” I said. I pulled open her buttocks and kissed the little crinckly just above her vagina.

She turned and said “You don’t have to, I know my arse is huge. It’s the way I’m built, can’t help it”

I turned her back “Sarah, you are what used to be called voluptuous I think. You are sexy and I want to have every bit of you. EVERY bit!” I buried myself into her groin and licked her, she made noises that she liked that. I couldn’t hear too clearly as my ears were blocked by her thighs. She wasn’t just bigger than the others, she was also more productive. It was plain that she enjoyed having me licking her as she was leaking a lot already. I lapped and licked as much as I could. Perhaps my enthusiasm to stopping her leaking all over the bed was the trigger, whatever it was, she suddenly gripped me tightly between her legs and moaned urgently. Don’t ask what that means, I have no idea how to explain it. She was moaning but it was like she was urgent as she moaned; kind of the sound you make when you moan – a long drawn noise – compressed into tighter space. Whatever, she clearly liked it.

Before she could think, I had moved up and entered her. First time I needed to fuck! I mean needed to! The night before we had been in danger, maybe we weren’t in as much danger as we’d feared, but it felt like it. Especially that last commitment to run towards an invisible entrance to a harbour. I’d collapse into bed, exhausted at the end. Then there had been the sorting, arranging, writing the log (every skipper has to keep a log, and I’d been assiduous so far. That night I hadn’t completed it as I should have done. Another result of the near panic I was in). Then, in bed with Sarah, it had all come to an end. The relief of the pressure needed to be released. I needed to fuck her, hard. She looked surprised as I mounted her and clearly wasn’t in the mood to take my time. She’d come, and was wet, slippery and eminently enterable. I took less than five minutes. Before, for the first time, I let out a string of loud expletives as we were alone on board.

“If I was leaking before, it will be a flood now!” said Sarah. I looked at her, blankly “That’s what I said when you were down there. That I was leaking massively. You didn’t hear?”

“I was otherwise engrossed, I’m afraid.” I didn’t say, your big thighs blocked my hearing. See? Men can be diplomatic.

She went out to the bathroom, naked and ... well, yes, naked and voluptuous. She was sex on a stick! Then I heard voices. She came back, red-faced and laughing at the same time.

“Joanne was sleeping in the front. She asked if we could be a little quieter as she didn’t need to know that my ‘fucking cunt is the fucking cream’” Had I said that? No, apparently Sarah had shouted that, or something like that, at me while I was licking her. My shouts had been less intelligent, more sensual. Joanne had opted not to go to town as she was tired. She hadn’t realised that previous nights I and my partner had been deliberately quiet and that, this time, we hadn’t realised we needed to be. I was tempted to invite her in; but I each girl had to have a one-to-one first.

“Chris, will you do something for me tonight?” Sarah said, pulling on her pants, apparently she was laying claim to a proper night since last night didn’t count.

“I should think so”

“Will you take me from behind ... in my behind I mean” Did she mean what I thought she meant? “I mean, you know, anal.

Will you? Please?”

A girl was asking if I would fuck her anally as if it was a favour. I couldn’t help getting a semi at the thought. She took that as a yes, and as an offer. “Thanks, but not now, I want it to be proper, tonight” Not sure what ‘proper’ meant as regards anal sex between unmarried, good-living (mostly) Christians, but I said I’d wait.

We sat on deck, the three of us, drinking coffee. Sarah, out of the blue, said “I wish I was a Catholic” Catholics were one of the churches that didn’t come on the ecumenical sailing week, We both said “Why?”

“Well, after this holiday, I’d have to go to confession and tell someone all the things we’d done, and the father would have to listen to the lot and not tell anyone!” We imagined that and agreed that yes, that would be fun. We all wanted to tell what we’d been up to. The storm was the only bit so far that could be exaggerated rather than toned down.