Chapter 1: Joining the Crew

OK, so I'll admit it! I'm a smooth-talking salesman, but one whose fortunes have been bedevilled by a combination of an insatiable curiosity concerning the affairs of others, and an obsessive gambling nature which has won and lost me a number of fortunes. I am now sharing a home with two very pregnant women, my wife Paula and my daughter Lara, neither of whom know who the fathers are... all as the result of these two character traits of mine.

Let's go back to the beginning. My name is Stu Collins, British by birth, but schooled in Cape Town, South Africa where my parents emigrated when I was 10.

In 1987 when I graduated at age 22 with a business degree, this was still apartheid South Africa. The laws prohibiting interracial sex were no longer rigidly enforced, but were still on the statute book. For this reason, I found a particular thrill in dating "coloured" girls during my student days and breaking the law by getting into their pants.

Early in 1988 I met Paula, then just 17 and starting 11th grade. She was also "coloured", but I really fell for her... it was not just the illicit thrill. She was tall; at 1.73m (or 5'8" if you like) she was slightly taller than me. She was athletically built, broad-shouldered with C-cup tits that jutted out firmly. She was not particularly dark, rather more olive-skinned; in fact, she was later often thought to be southern European or perhaps Arab.

As I said, I'm a smooth-talking salesman, and within two months of our meeting had talked her out of her cherry.

This was no mean feat, as she was active in a quite fundamentalist church.

Before long, we drifted into a social group of some six or seven senior schoolgirls dating older guys. Within this group, there were continual rounds of dares to do outrageous things such as sex in ever more public places.

My gambling instinct thrilled particularly at dares around the theme of unprotected sex, just at the limit of the girl's safe period. This we did quite a few times, and inevitably our luck could not hold out forever. So there was Paula, not quite 18, still at high school, but with my baby growing in her young womb.

We told both sets of. Mine were annoyed that I had not been more careful, and even hinted that Paula had trapped me. Hers were devastated.

We still couldn't get married in South Africa. So I took Paula back to England (with the help of a family friend at the consulate who smoothed out the paper work for Paula), and we got married.

Baby Lara arrived in July 1989. For the next couple of years, I worked in a property development office, while Paula did a secretarial course, and once Lara was three and settled in a nursery school, Paula found work.

By this time I was getting bored with office life myself. Through some contacts I had made, I set up on my own, borrowed large amounts of money, bought, modified and sold many properties. Some worked out well. Others ruined me and we had to start.

This became the pattern for the next ten years as Lara grew into a beautiful teenager, very much like her mother. At times we were nearly destitute, supported by Paula's regular but limited secretarial income; at other times I was a millionaire!

This brings us to early in this year as I write (2004).

Lara was 14, going on 15, and looked about 17. What worried me was her 17-year old motor-cycling boyfriend (Billy), as I remembered only too well how easily I had seduced her mother at 17!

Paula was now 33, but looked hardly more than 25, and many mistook the two of them for sisters. I had been urging Paula to have another baby, but she kept insisting that we should wait until we were sufficiently financially secure and settled, so that she could give up her job with the used car dealership where she had worked for past two years or more. By May 2004, however, I had closed a deal that would give us more than I had ever made before, and Paula at last agreed to have the baby, but on one condition: that I make over all the money to her, into her private savings account.

I agreed, and the day I showed her the final signed contracts, she flushed her birth control pills down the toilet.

The money itself would only be paid out in August, so we were still short on funds. But we agreed that the three of us would go on a cheap hiking holiday in Europe for six weeks, using buses and trains and sleeping in youth hostels. Paula would quit her job at the end of June, and we would set off as soon as Lara finished school for the year, just a week or so before her 15th birthday.

I was a little disappointed that Paula was not yet pregnant by the time we left. The problem was that there had been so much rushing around that we hardly had any sex during June and July. And then once on our trip, Lara usually shared a room with us, so that we had little opportunity then.

We took a ferry to the north of Spain, and then during the next couple of weeks meandered across Spain, along the French Riviera and into Italy.

The trouble started in early August in Naples. We had agreed to stay there for a week or more, exploring the area. But both Paula and Lara were pre-menstrual at the same time, and rather bitchy. So I escaped to the yacht basin, where I got involved with a poker school. Even after the girls' periods came, for the next 3 or 4 days, I still slipped away at times to play poker, as at first I had been doing so well.

And then I started losing, and losing, and losing!

Suddenly I realized that I had blown almost all our funds. This was a disaster! I was technically bankrupt, and had no bank account. I had taken cash and travellers cheques, but these were now all gone.

I had to confess to Paula, and she was furious, threatening to leave me once and for all! (She did have her savings account, but had told me that her ATM card would only work in the UK. She was later to admit to me that this was not true. She would have relented eventually, but wanted to teach me a lesson and kept up the pretence as the events below unfolded.)

Paula, accompanied by Lara, marched me back to the yacht basin to find my poker mates. She threatened, she cajoled, she flirted, she cried, trying to get my money back, but to no avail. But then two of the guys, young but rather upper-class sounding Brits called Mark and Quinton, suggested a possible way out.

"We are part of the crew of an ocean-going yacht that's doing some business around the Mediterranean", one of them told us. "We have just lost our cleaning and kitchen staff. Perhaps the boss will agree to sign you on. We are supposed to be back in England in about 3 weeks".

This seemed our only hope (and prevented Paula from admitting to her savings account). We agreed that the two guys would bring their boss to meet us a couple of hours later.

The "boss" turned out to be an aristocratic Englishman in his early 50s. He gave us the once-over; or at least he gave Paula and Lara the once over, largely ignoring me. I remember thinking that it was fortunate both of them had worn gypsy-style tops with low scooped bustlines, as the boss (we never did get to hear his name) leered at their tits most of the time. He did also question us on families, when we'd be expected home, and on who might miss us if we were late (no one really!).

"OK", he said, "I'm satisfied. You can work your way home with us by cleaning, helping in the galley etc.

But remember that once on board, you obey orders without question! And another thing -- Keep your noses out of our business at all times or you'll be in trouble. Do you understand?"

We agreed.

"Right", the boss continued. "Meet us back here at 7pm sharp, with all your bags".

Over the next couple of hours, Paula warned me repeatedly not to blow this last chance by any other stupid actions, such as "poking my nose" into their business.

We were met by Mark and Quinton, who escorted us without offering to carry anything to the "yacht". To my eyes it looked like a small ocean liner.

The "boss" met us at the top of the gangplank, accompanied by a little cockney guy, Sid, who appeared to be in his mid-forties, and two huge very black West Indian men, whom he referred to as Andy and Mikey. The boss explained that Sid was his right-hand man, and that we should take orders from him. Andy and Mikey were "in charge of security", he told us.

Sid told us to follow him. He led us through a lounge area (with a number of tables and a fancy bar), down a passage, at the end of which he opened a door to show us into a huge stateroom with its own en suite bathroom.

"This is normally a VIP guest cabin, but it's not being used, and is our only spare cabin at this stage".

None of us commented on the fact that there was only one kingsized bed, so that presumably Lara would need to share the bed with us. Somehow, this generated a bit of a tingle in my groin, for reasons I would have found hard to articulate.

We left our backpacks (which was all we had) on the bed, and followed Sid as he showed us round the rest of boat.

Apart from the six guys we had already met, he also introduced us to a tall fifty-year old Hollander, Henk, and to two Algerians (Moussa and Zohra). It turned out that Henk basically captained the boat, assisted by Mark and Quinton. At this stage the roles of Moussa and Zohra were not clear.

After the tour, we settled down in the lounge, and had drinks. Nothing had yet been said about our duties, but everyone was friendly and the ambience was fantastic.

We had just finished the drinks when we heard some sounds outside. Andy came in and told the boss that

"your guests are here".

Sid gestured to us, and escorted us to our stateroom.

"Stay here", he instructed us, "until I say you may come out".

He left closing the door, but not locking it.

I peeped through a porthole. It was starting to get dark, but I could make out a group of men bringing suitcases and boxes on board from cars on the dockside.

There seemed to be some urgency to get finished, and I saw that some were nervously looking up the road as if they expected someone else to come.

Suddenly it struck me! I turned to Paula and told her: