I finally fulfilled my dream and bought a yacht in the new year. It was an old yacht, but it was in good condition and suitable to live aboard. It had a big galley, stove, fridge/freezer, and plenty of workspace. It was a 60ft ketch rig yacht with a centre cockpit, two staterooms and a joint head, a toilet, and a shower in the aft section.

Forward of the cockpit was the galley and dining area, with the second head, laundry and storage before the forepeak, where we had two double bunks. Under the cockpit was the engine room and storage area.

I moved out of the apartment and spent a few weeks cleaning and packing my gear away while getting used to living on the yacht. It was great to be living the dream and enjoying the clean ocean air. Before I could sail, I knew I had to take the boat out of the water for a new coat of paint and antifoul. Booking a few weeks on the hardstand, I prepared the yacht to be lifted out of the water, ready for cleaning and painting.

Just before the big day, I received a call from a friend. I had known her for about ten years through a work contact. We chatted several times, and she was among the first people I shared the news that I had bought a boat. She told me she was worried about her youngest daughter, Natalie, who had just turned eighteen. She had finished school and didn’t know what to do next. She was shy, and in her mother’s opinion, she was also naive. She was concerned that someone would take advantage of her. As we talked, she asked if I would allow Natalie to come and live with me on the yacht. She thought that with my life experience, and now that I was living on a boat, I would give her the exposure and life experience she might need. I told her that sending an eighteen-year-old girl to live with a twenty-eight-year-old over-sexed ex-soldier was nothing short of crazy. She laughed and said she would trust me to do the right thing for her daughter. I remember thinking great, and there goes my peaceful lifestyle.

A week later, I picked Nat up from the local airport. She was around 5’10’, slim athletic build, shoulder-length ready brown hair, a nice arse, and firm B-Cup breasts. The thing that caught my attention was her full lips and great smile. She was quiet and understandably shy as we drove back to the marina. As we walked up the yacht, she was suitably impressed and excited. She was living on board and enjoying the free and easy lifestyle of a yachting lifestyle. As we lifted her bags into the cockpit, I started to show her around and things to look out for. I showed her to the forward cabin and explained she had this area and front head to herself when we didn’t have clients. When we had clients, we would share this area, and the two staterooms in the aft of the vessel would be for clients. I only asked if she helped keep the boat clean and cook.

We moved the yacht to the lifting pen at the marina hardstand facility for repairs and maintenance the next day. Nat was trying to figure out what to do other than grab ropes but looked pretty good in her short and bikini top and gained a lot of attention from the hardstand staff. On the first day, I had her doing minor tasks while I started grinding and cleaning the hull. It is a dirty task with black paint, barnacles and sea lice. That night, we stopped at sunset, showered at the local facility with simple but clean toilets and plenty of hot water, and then went for dinner at the local bar nearby.

We sat and discussed her thoughts about future studies, home life, and general interests. I shared my experience in defence and trips overseas. She asked if I had a girlfriend, and I explained that my previous life didn’t allow for a relationship, and my mates with girlfriends were separated or in trouble. She said she had a boyfriend at home but had broken up as he didn’t like her going away, especially when he learned she was living on a yacht with a 28-year-old male.

The following day, Nat asked if she could help grind the hull. I explained it was a dirty exercise and that I would buy her overalls to keep reasonably clean. She protested and said she would work in her shorts and bikini to get a suntan simultaneously. By the end of the day, covered in black antifoul and grindings of the hull, she looked disgusting. We went off for our respective showers, and having finished mine, I was standing outside talking with another yacht owner. Nat came out in clean shorts and a T-shirt, hair up in a towel, and as she walked past, I noticed she still had the black grime on her back. I called her back, and she looked embarrassed as she tried to see what I was talking about. I then told her to go back into the shower, and I would help to wash it off.

I told her to go back into the ladies’ shower, followed her in, told her to put her bikini on, and I would join her in the shower. With her bikini on and the shower water flowing, she opened the door, and I entered dressed in shorts. She looked up at me with a smile, and I told her to turn around, and I started washing her back. The black antifoul paint was stuck, and her bikini top string was in the way, so I undid her bikini top. She protested quietly and grabbed her breasts as I continued scrubbing her back. Muddy water flowed down her back, so I lowered her bikini bottoms a couple of inches, exposing the top of her firm arse cheeks. She protested, but I told her the water was muddy, and I wanted to ensure she was clean. Unfortunately, the cloth I was using was rough on her sunburnt skin. So I soaped my hands and washed her back, sides and the top of her arse with my bare hands. The pressure of my hands made her lean against the way with both hands outstretched, and I could now admire the side of her perfect breasts. I ran my hands from the top of her neck over her back and along her side in slow, firm movements. I even lowered my hand to the top of her bikini bottoms, pulling them out and rinsing the soap off.

By the time I finished, she was clean and reticent, and she was shocked when I said I had finished and that she was clean. Turning off the shower, she dried with her back to me, telling me I had strong, big hands, and thanked me for washing her back. I dried and left her to change, and we walked back to the boat together. As she climbed the ladder back onto the ship, I looked up as I held the ladder for her and could tell she was not wearing underwear. After cooking a meal, we sat in the cockpit planning the next day’s activities, including buying Nat overalls. Sitting there in the moonlight suntanned, I thought she was a lovely young lady and wished her a good night as I retired to my cabin. As I left, I told her we had clients to take sailing in a week.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, but I did notice she rarely wore a bra and sometimes did not wear underwear when she had shorts on. Last night on the hard stand, we talked about relationships, and she was curious about what sort of girls I was attracted to. I explained that most women I had relationships with were married or had boyfriends. I explained the type of woman with a high sex drive who enjoys multiple partners, group sex or would cheat, which I found profoundly arousing. She seemed confused, and I explained that freedom is crucial for me and I would give my life to defend my freedom. That freedom includes sexual freedom. The biggest mistake I have seen in relationships is the weaponisation of sexuality in relationships, which is not freedom. Nat asked why I didn’t wear underwear, and I explained the hygiene reason for working operationally, which was something I had grown used to. I commented that I was surprised she had noticed, and she replied that it was hard not to. She made a further comment if I didn’t wear them, neither would she, and that sounded good to me.