Chapter 3

Randy is on his computer when I get done starting the laundry.

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked.

“Looking for Marine Engineering Bachelor’s Degree programs closer to home,” Randy said, and grinned at me.

“Thanks sweetheart. It always helps to have another set of eyes take a look at things.

“I think I want a degree program that’s part of an actual college of engineering. I might want to take some mechanical engineering classes, and if they have an advanced materials course, that would be good too. If it’s a Bachelor’s Degree program, then the Physics Department needs to have fluid dynamics or something like that.

“I’ve got this crazy idea about changing the state of the water molecules or something that makes the water not actually attached to the hull, so the boat slides over the water. That way the hull doesn’t have to push water out of the way, but you can have a safer, more stable hull shape that can survive heavy weather. Flying on little foils just doesn’t seem safe to me. I don’t know how to do it yet, but that’s my goal,” I told him.

“You’d have to design the hull so it could survive a storm with the power out,” Randy said.

“Absolutely. That’s why I don’t like those big cats they are racing these days. They can hit a wave wrong and go end over end. I want to make a boat fast, but also safe, sea kindly, and easier to sail,” I said.

I got tested, and my scores made it was obvious I could outdo any high school graduate in the district. I took my scores to see the Superintendent. It didn’t take much to convince him it would benefit the district to grant me a diploma, not just a GED.

I called Carla to let her know I wouldn’t be at school any more. Carla said she had been honest with her dad about having a crush on Eric, and he had started letting her come to work with him, where she formally met Eric, with her dad’s approval. They had gone on several successful dates. Eric treated her like an adult, not a stupid kid. Carla thanked me for giving her good advice.

“The best thing about it is that my feelings are real now, not some fiction. Even better, I get to see Eric’s reactions to me, and so I know I’m his type and he’s lusting after me as much as I’m hot for him. He likes seeing me in my cheerleader uniform, and he’s been to a couple of games to watch me. We’ve gone out afterwards. I guess taking me on a date when I’m in uniform gets him hard for me.

“So I really want to give him my virginity, but I don’t want to do it too soon, because he does seem to like that I’m different and don’t act like a ho,” Carla said.

“You have to do what feels right for you. I think I’d at least want him to say he loves me in a way that was romantic and not ambiguous. If Randy had said he felt married to me in his heart, I probably would have jumped on him before our wedding. Still, there is something to be said for a man who wants you enough to be willing to wait,” I said.

That was the last time I ever talked to Carla. My education and my marriage took up all my time from then on.

I did end up going to Michigan to get my Naval Engineering degree. I hated the winters, but I got through in three years instead of four. Randy got his PhD, and started working on his book.

After I got my degree, Randy paid for me to go to The Landing School in Arundel, Maine to get my Yacht Design Diploma. I got a “Women in the Marine Industry” scholarship, which helped reduce the cost.

I started working on my Master’s in Naval Engineering right away, and for my literature survey project, I looked into the history of drag reduction schemes.

I built a 10-foot-long model and built the wing sail to generate electricity. I did a lot of experiments using various hull shapes and surface tension disruption schemes. I found that my wing produced enough electricity to generate bubbles that would allow the hull to ride on a thin boundary layer and not push through the water at all. It reduces the drag in the same way as when a speed boat goes up on plane, instead of pushing the hull through the water. It took me nearly a year to get the right size holes for the compressed air to go out of the hull. The distance between the outer hull with the bubble generator and the inner hull that keeps the ocean out, turned out to be critical too. If the space was too small, the air pressure was too high, and the bubbles were too big. If the space was too large, the air pressure was too low, and the boundary layer didn’t form.

Finally, I was able to put all my math to use and derive formulas for all the critical dimensions, so I could scale my test beds up or down, as needed.

I built a Flying Junior, which is 13 feet 3 inches long; and a Flying Dutchman, which is 20 feet long to use as test beds in international racing classes, to demo my boundary layer generator. All the other dimensions were class legal, and I beat every top boat in both classes. I also built test beds with advanced materials that were substantially lighter than the legal class weights. Those boats kicked ass against legal weight boats.

I was invited to do a full-size demo boat for the U.S. America’s cup team. I negotiated an agreement where they paid for all my materials and paid my living expenses. It took a year to build the demo boat.

Frank Evans was running Team USA these days. He was another software billionaire who had the sailing bug. He laughed at my hull that looked like it was a copy of the basic twelve-meter design, in use for over fifty years, until the U.S. team got tired of losing to Australia and New Zealand, and changed the rules to allow a catamaran hull. He also laughed at my drag reduction system. He kept repeating, “What happens if you have a power failure?”

We did a best two out of three races on San Francisco Bay. I needed fewer people to run my boat, and I put together an all-female team, just to rub it in for the “Good Old Boys,” if I did win.

I won all three races, then I turned off the drag reduction system, and I won one, and tied two races against BMW’s primary and their spare Louis Vuitton Cup challenge boats.

I smiled sweetly, when Frank handed me a contract to build the spare America’s Cup challenge boat.

Randy finished his book, and his publisher sent him out to be a guest on all the talk shows. He did a great job of charming the hosts and presenting hard data on the efficacy of his programs. When the book came out, it was number one on the non-fiction best seller list within a week.

We leased warehouse space on San Francisco Bay, and I went to work building the boat. Randy and I had been in a long-distance relationship, for all practical purposes, for the last two years, so it was nice to be in the same bed every night. I definitely felt a spike in my motivation and creativity when I was getting multiple orgasms every single night. Randy seemed to be on a mission to fuck my brains out every time we were together. My husband was highly successful accomplishing his mission each and every time.

It is the weirdest feeling in the world to be only twenty-three, and have my boat beating the pants off the primary challenge boat every single time, in all wind and sea conditions. Finally, the rules committee decided to allow my anti-drag device, and Frank promoted my boat to the primary hull for the challenge.

We used my prototype boat for the Louis Vuitton Cup matches to minimize wear on the challenge hull. We came through the matches undefeated, and then Frank pulled a typical “Old Boy” fast one on me, totally worthy of Dennis Conner. He had the latest, greatest skipper and tactician, plus an all new, super-secret Sun computer system assigned to the challenge hull, and I had to race them in the nearly worn out Louis Vuitton cup wining hull with my volunteer, all female crew, minus the Sun computer.

I had an experimental outer hull that had the bubble generator holes angled toward the stern, so theoretically, they would provide some forward propulsion as well as create the boundary layer. I took advantage of Frank’s skipper’s over aggressive nature, and got him to ram me. The outer hull shattered on my boat, and I was allowed to replace the outer hull. My cheat gave me an extra knot of boat speed, and I won all the match races. I couldn’t help grinning at Frank when the syndicate managing board overruled Frank and assigned me to skipper the challenge hull against the Emirates Team New Zealand. Their cat hull was substantially identical to the hull used to beat Oracle/BMW two championships in a row.

I had three, spare outer hulls built just in case the New Zealand hull was fast enough to stay close to me, and their skipper got overly aggressive. I also had two extra masts and wings built.

About that time, Tesla came out with a new battery array that was 50% lighter than the one I had been using. That conversion, and the weight savings should give me another half knot of boat speed. I was feeling positive about our changes, though by no means cocky.

Just before final inspection, I figured out how to do the thing the model T-1000 does in “Terminator 2.” My version of liquid metal allowed a flat, wide stern with zero fin keel when sailing downwind. When sailing upwind, my fin keel might be two feet deep and only weigh one hundred pounds on a light wind day, or nine feet deep and weigh two thousand pounds or even more on a squally day. In other words, my fin keel was only as deep and as heavy as the wind speed and point of sail required to provide sufficient righting moment to keep the hull from capsizing. This also allowed me to control the side slippage when sailing upwind. Because it was instantly adjustable, I could make the fin wider as well as deeper to allow a better tacking angle, and nearly straight-line headings were possible when going upwind. Of course, one has to be careful not to get carried away and sacrifice too much boat speed to make good a better heading.

The night before the first race, I had the outer hull that only generated a boundary layer, installed. I checked over all systems, and then went home.

Randy made dinner for me, and then he attacked me in a way that reminded me of my secret rape fantasy. I was terribly chagrined as an educated woman, to desire being fucked against my will, but I think Randy knew I was so nervous that extreme measures were needed so I could relax and go to sleep.

I fought him off as long as I could. Fantasy rape doesn’t let a woman use all her self-defense options. I wanted Randy healthy and able to fuck my brains out tomorrow, so I couldn’t kick him in the balls or do any other drastic self-defense move. I’m still only four feet, six inches tall, still weigh seventy pounds, and while I’m tight and toned, I couldn’t fight off a six foot, three-inch tall male, with about two hundred pounds of mass.

He wore me out. He pinned me to the bed. He forced my legs wide apart. He entered me, filled me completely, and then he fucked me until I was orgasming constantly and screaming my head off from the pleasure. Randy was rough enough with me that I felt filled, stretched, and possessed like never before. At that instant, I felt owned, as I was stuffed full of hard dick. When Randy let go and shot me full of boiling hot cream, I exploded into the most intense orgasm of my life. I whispered, “Thank you,” when his ejaculation turned from fiery spurts of baby batter to drips of semen, I collapsed and pulled him down on top of me. I loved feeling crushed into the bed so I feel helpless and possessed by my man, for a few more minutes of blissful afterglow.

I slept like I was dead, until the alarm went off at Zero Dark Thirty. I jumped on Randy and rode his hard cock until all of my worries were gone. I felt relaxed and loose from all the orgasms my husband gave me. I let Randy go back to sleep. I grabbed a quick shower and got down to the warehouse. We hoisted the boat into the water so she would be ready to go and we wouldn’t be delayed if the wind got stronger after the sun came up. I wasn’t going to put myself in the position of having to forfeit, so I got the boat in the water early.

The crew got as comfortable as possible, and we all took a nap. When the alarm went off, two hours before scheduled race time, we got up, ate, had our coffee, and used the rest room in the warehouse. We sailed around to get our equipment and ourselves, working smoothly. This also let me plan for the most advantageous pre-start maneuvers.

The big Emirates cat made me feel like my boat was a shrimp next to a Great White Shark. Of course feeling like a shrimp was nothing new for me! Because of the drag reduction system, the normal physics of boat speed didn’t apply, and I didn’t need a super long waterline to get maximum speed from the hull. The tunable segments of the wing and the rotating mast, let me sail faster than the wind speed.

We crossed the starting line an eye blink after the starting gun. I didn’t turn on the DRS to see how the hull design would work without generating the boundary layer. Because I could precisely control the fin keel size, shape, and weight, I was able to keep up with the Emirates boat through two of the three legs. As we turned onto the last leg, the Emirates boat threw up a spinnaker and even with the hull shape modified to plane and the fin keel completely retracted, we started to lose ground. When the other boat was five seconds ahead, I gybed and got upwind. I gybed again, turned on the DRS, and pulled even with them. I caught them in my wind shadow, and that let me pull ahead without looking like I flipped a switch. We won the race by ten seconds.

My strategy was to keep the races close, so the Emirates skipper would not suspect how much of an advantage my design actually gave my boat. I planned to win all the matches though, so that unforeseen circumstances could not result in an overall loss.

Frank wanted me to let the boat loose and beat the New Zealand boat by the maximum distance possible. I convinced the board to keep our wins as small as possible to maintain as much of our advantage as possible for the next challenge. If we only won by a few seconds the next challenger might not research how we actually won, so we might get at least one more win without needing a totally innovative design to beat the next challenger.

My boat won the America’s Cup!

I took a month off to rest up. Randy helped me design the interior of our cruising boat and then I went to work building the boat we would trust to safely carry us to the furthest reaches of the world’s oceans. I concentrated on safety, stability, and comfort; although our floating home was faster than most cruising sailboats, whether mono-hull, cat, or trimaran.

Randy provisioned the boat to ensure food would not get ruined by water and wasn’t going to spoil. We agreed it would be better to save recreational cooking for when we were in port, and could buy fresh ingredients. Our stores were mostly surplus MREs, although we contracted with a company to package our meals at about one-thousand-five-hundred calories each, instead of the three thousand calories typical in a military ready to eat meal. We also reduced the packaging in our meals, so they took a lot less room to store.

The week before we were scheduled to leave for our circumnavigation, we took the boat out for sea trials. Sailing out the Golden Gate brought back good memories for us, as we thought about our first time at sea on Quark Quark. The good memories revived our passion for each other, and we regressed from being a sensible adult married couple to fucking each other senseless, like horny teenagers, every chance we got. More than that, we made opportunities for ourselves, so that we were even more sexually active than when we first got married. Both of us were as happy as we had been when we first fell in love and got married.

We were having a lot of trouble coming up with a name for the new boat. Randy is a Star Trek fan, but most of those ship names are military, and might be provocative in some places. Others had been used too often or might seem grandiose. That might make people assume we were pompous asses, totally full of ourselves. We settled on “Shearwater,” because the way boundary layer made the hull slip over the water reminded me of the sea bird skimming just above the waves.

I went to a gynecologist and got checked. She said I was healthy, so she told me it was safe for me to get pregnant, and removed the IUD.

I was going to start my period in a week, so we had nearly a month before I would be likely to ovulate. Randy and I had never gotten excited about the idea of impregnating me before, so I was eager to see if it was different now that I am potentially fertile.

After our sea trials, we checked every rope, piece of metal, carbon fiber part and hunk of fiberglass. I checked over every electrical, electronic, and mechanical system.

“Shearwater” made electricity in her wing sail. It was collected and stored in big Tesla batteries on separate circuits, and then it went to redundant distribution panels. There were two small diesel generators to charge the batteries in case a storm took out our mast, or our solar systems failed. One generator can do the job by itself, but I always try to have redundant systems where safety could be an issue. If we needed motor propulsion, we had two electric motors in sealed pods below the stern. The pods could rotate 360 degrees, so they contributed to maneuverability. We also had an electric bow thruster to shove the bow away from a dock if we had to leave in a crosswind or on a contrary tide.

The electric motors produced zero carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, or hydrocarbons. When we didn’t need the electric motors for power, the propellers could turn the motors as the boat went through the water under sail power. This would make the motors spin like generators, and produce electric power to charge the batteries. If the batteries are fully charged, the propellers feather to reduce drag and to minimize using mechanical systems, to reduce wear and tear and the potential for mechanical failure.

Our diesel generators were really considered emergency equipment, but if we did have to run them, they used a tenth the fuel a standard marine diesel propulsion engine would.

We tried to seal all the electric components so they were waterproof. We used large heat sinks that projected through the epoxy encapsulation where most boats used a perforated case or a fan for cooling. I also had some experimental water-cooled systems.

I didn’t tell Randy I’d had the IUD removed until we were motoring out from Jack London Square in Oakland. I was pretty surprised at the expression on his face.

“I can’t wait until we get to the end of the outbound ship channel, and I can let the autopilot take over, little girl! The whole time you were under-age, I was torn up by wanting to knock you up on the one hand, to see how sexy you’d look as a pregnant teenager, and fear of getting lynched for “defiling” you,” Randy confessed.

“I was equally conflicted, Randy. I wanted to be thoroughly defiled, but I was scared to death of what a baby’s head would do, getting shoved out my fourteen-year-old pussy,” I admitted.

Once we got out of the marina, we set the wing sail, turned off the electric motors, and followed the ship channel out of the Golden Gate. One of the great things about the electric motors is that they don’t produce stinky exhaust like a diesel engine does. That helps people not get sea sick at the beginning of a voyage.

When we reached the end of the outbound ship channel, Randy checked the GPS waypoint for Hawaii that was set in the autopilot, and then turned on the black box.

My husband picked me up and carried me to a berth next to the navigation station, and nearly ripped my clothes off. I love that our lovemaking usually takes a long time, but Randy was so worked up, he filled me with what felt like a gallon of hot cream, nearly as quickly as a teen boy, having sex for the first time, might. That got me unusually excited because the idea that I was hot enough to make my grown up husband lose control massaged my ego just where it was a little weak. Anyway, I loved the hell out of making Randy pop in record time.

All the way to Hawaii, we fucked, went up to keep lookout while we rested, and as soon as Randy could get hard, we fucked again. Once we were far enough out for there not to be any boats or ships around, we didn’t bother going below to make love, and just used the berth in the pilothouse.

By the time we pulled into a marina in Honolulu, we agreed we had practiced until our knocking up Mandy drill was perfect. We had shipped a resupply of our custom packaged, dehydrated food to the marina, so we could fill up our storage lockers. By this time, we knew for sure that there weren’t any leaks in “Shearwater” that could potentially ruin food. Our water maker was doing its reverse osmosis process flawlessly, and our tanks were full of excellent tasting drinking water.

To save weight and volume, we had our food source make us freeze dried coffee. I have no idea why everybody else makes instant coffee that tastes like swill or recycled plastic. Ours was just like drinking coffee at home, except drinking it on deck, with a fresh breeze in your face made ours taste even better.

I had “Shearwater” hauled out of the water, and I checked the bottom of the hull, the rudders, propellers, grounding strips and sacrificial anodes, to make sure there was no evidence of a current path, which would indicate an electrical short.

I had been concerned about marine organisms clogging up the holes the bubbles came out of, but so far, the biocide cast in the carbon fiber hull was not allowing any algae or barnacles to start growing. We had “Shearwater” put back in the water, and we left on the first ebb tide.

I had not been in a hurry to get to Hawaii, so I hadn’t turned on the anti-drag system except for daily test periods. Now we had a much longer distance to go, so I turned on the bubbles as soon as we were out of the harbor. Randy thought it was hilarious to copy some parody of the Lawrence Welk show, and he would yell, “Turn on the bubble machine,” or “Turn off the bubble machine,” in a cheesy Scandinavian-American accent. I guess I’m too young to get the joke. I did try not to crush his ego by treating him like an idiot for it, and I tried to laugh instead of groan.

Randy isn’t high maintenance, and his ego doesn’t take too much massaging, but I have noticed that he is happier if I manage him a little. It really doesn’t take much work to reassure him, and I do think it’s kind of cute that my big, handsome husband has some insecurities. I would think that after all this time he’d realize that I like him well enough to hang around for the duration. He worries that his cock isn’t big enough, and that I’m faking it when I’m squirming and screaming when he makes me cum.

I try to be sweet and soft and pleasing, and not get too goal directed or too much like an engineer. I also try to use the adjective “BIG” most of the time when I talk about how good his cock makes me feel, and I try to use “stretched” to describe how it makes me feel to be full of the afore mentioned BIG cock.

Of course Randy doesn’t have any competition. There are only two of us on the boat. Still, he does seem to get panicky that I’m going to run off with a French guy wearing a Speedo in Polynesia or something, so I do regular ego massages to keep him reassured. Like I said, it’s pretty cute that this big, impressive, PhD man is worried about his shrimpy, flat chested wife running off. The truth is, Randy’s cock is pretty impressive, and I doubt if I’d even enjoy getting worked over by a bigger dick. Throw in the fact that the man attached to a bigger cock would probably be a prick, and worked over would likely be an accurate description. I’ll take getting thoroughly loved by Randy’s strong body and plethora of penis, any day, over getting worked over by some French beach bum.

I anticipated Randy having some insecurities about getting me pregnant, so I packed a bunch of pregnancy test sticks. As soon as I thought I was ovulating, I attacked Randy like I was a nympho, which required zero acting, and got as much of his sperm as possible coating my cervix at all hours of the day and night.

Two weeks after my ovulation calculation, I peed on a stick. I guess I’m super fertile, because I caught, and was able to show Randy a big plus sign the on the very first test stick.

Talk about weird, I felt healthier than ever. I never had morning sickness. I was perpetually horny, and I kept Randy’s balls so well drained, he joked about dust spraying out when he came, one of these days. That seemed to do something to make Randy realize his fears were irrational, and I was able to scale back the ego massaging to the gentle cycle. The best thing was that I made sure to say things I really felt and believed, and now my husband actually believed me.

We were sailing pretty much straight south from Hawaii to French Polynesia. I really loved the way the night sky changed as we went further south. We crossed the Equator, and the Southern Cross replaced the Big Dipper as the most recognizable group of stars in the sky. Randy was working on learning to identify the different stars that can be used for navigation. He was also learning how to use a sextant, and he took sights on the sun at noon and on the moon and navigational stars at night. His sights got more accurate and his errors in calculation dropped to near zero. In the event of catastrophic electronics system failure, we would still be able to navigate. Using a sextant requires practice, so Randy kept up a regular schedule of sights, just like the sextant was our only navigation tool, so he would stay in practice. I asked Randy to teach me how to take sights so I would be able to share the work.

It was warm, and I was either wearing a bikini or nothing most of the time. I liked keeping Randy stirred up. Seeing him have a hard on for me almost all the time took care of my insecurities about being skinny and having small tits. Pregnancy had brought my boobs up to legitimate A Cup, adult female breasts. I was reasonably happy. I had gotten SO tired of being an adult woman and only needing a training bra.

I did realize that a girl could have too much of a good thing though, and given my miniscule frame, I only coveted B Cup tits. In the back of my mind I knew that would be too big, and probably give me back aches, but it’s the same insecurity that makes a guy want a ten-inch dick, so his size is indisputable, and only a sick girl who wants to fuck horses would want a bigger cock up her cunt. A guy thinks if he has that kind of heavy artillery swinging between his legs, no one is going to tell him he’s not a “real man.” A girl thinks if she has D Cup jugs arriving in the room before she does, no one is going to tell her she isn’t a REAL woman.

We didn’t even try to do a watch schedule. We just kept watch when we were awake, kept the alarms set on the AIS and the radar, and fucked each other silly as often as Randy could get hard. Sometimes, I played the horny pregnant woman card, and got my husband to get me off with his tongue and fingers, if he needed a longer refractory period than suited me at the moment. I always made sure to make it clear I only wanted Randy though, and I wasn’t craving dick so badly that any old cock would do.

We got to Tahiti, and we played tourist. We had food shipped to a marina there, and we restocked before we went on to the other islands in the archipelago. We sailed to New Zealand and saw all the sights there.

Randy was irritated with me when I insisted on hiking to see the Hobbit village from the Lord of the Rings movies. It is pretty difficult to do a long-distance hike when you have been limited to fifty feet to deck for a long passage and barefoot most of the time. We had tried to work out in ways besides our horizontal calisthenics, but the effectiveness had been limited.

We did the tourist stuff, although I’m not into bungie jumping or a lot of the extreme sports stuff they like in New Zealand. We sailed to Sydney and got a space in a marina so we could wait there for our baby to be born. I found a midwife and her supervising OBGYN that I liked, and I went to all the recommended appointments.

I thought we might get into trouble, because there was a Dutch cruising family in the marina with a teenage son and daughter. The girl definitely wanted Randy, and the boy seemed interested in what a tiny red headed pregnant lady might be like. Their parents watched them like hawks, and there was never an opportunity to get them alone. Randy and I agreed it was probably good to stick to loving each other exclusively, so all the potential disasters of multiple partners could be avoided.

Just before they were going to leave, the parents went shopping for food, and the kids were left to clean and mend gear. We were walking down the dock toward “Shearwater.” When we passed the Dutch vessel, the girl pulled her top up, baring what had to be C Cup breasts. “Do you share my burning longing, Randy?” She asked.

“I think my husband would love to find out all about how a blonde Dutch teenager smells, tastes, feels, and sounds. I’m particularly curious about the tastes part, myself,” I said.