Chapter 9

Feeling vaguely guilty, Bob merely nodded at Mandy as he slipped past her to the washing machine. It was running and he remembered she'd brought her own clothes down to wash. He opened the machine and saw her stuff was all that was in it, so he stuffed the sheets in, added soap, and restarted the machine on a new cycle.

He came out and tried to act normally, which was practically impossible since she was still stark naked.

"I missed lunch. Anything left?"

"You know where the snacks are," she said. She was putting together ingredients for hot rolls and her skin was spotted with flour. He wanted to reach out and brush the white powder off of one of her breasts, but controlled himself.

"Don't be mad at me, Mandy," he said.

"I'm not mad," she said.

"Yes you are."

"Am not."

"Are too."

That got a grin from her, but then she frowned.

"Why don't you like looking at me like this?" she asked.

"I do like looking at you like this," he said, exasperation creeping into his voice. "I'm just not supposed to, that's all. It's frustrating."

"What if Mom said it was okay?" asked Mandy.

"Do you really think she would?"

Mandy sagged. "No," she admitted. "She'd probably ground me if she found out I got naked in front of all these people."

"I expect she would," he said. He felt like this was going much better. Maybe she'd get dressed again soon. He hoped so. His dick, only recently assuaged, was perking up again already.

"Well that's too bad," said Mandy suddenly. "I like this. It makes me feel weird, but it also makes me feel like laughing too. It's fun, kind of. Did you see that Professor Simpson has a tattoo?"

"Of course not," he said. "Why would I be looking for a tattoo?"

"Because she's naked!" snapped Mandy. "Don't tell me you don't like looking at any naked woman. I know you're not gay!" There was acid in her voice.

"Of course I'm not gay," he said, sounding wounded. "But I don't ogle naked customers either. That's all."

"What if I had a tattoo?" she asked innocently. "Would you really look at it?"

"First off, if you got a tattoo without your mother's approval she'd probably scour it off with steel wool," he said, trying to sound menacing. It didn't work. "Secondly, it would all depend on where it was, now wouldn't it." He smiled, thinking he'd won a point.

Mandy wasn't cowed at all.

"Oh, I don't know. I think Mom would approve of a nice, tasteful little tattoo. What kind do you think would look good on me?"

Bob, like many men, was fighting a losing battle and didn't even know it. Her question was so normal sounding that he reacted normally.

"Where?" he asked.

"Where Professor Simpson has hers, of course," said Mandy sweetly. "She's a respectable adult, after all."

"I told you, I didn't see hers." If the truth were told, Bob had been so busy looking at his niece that he really hadn't had time to inspect any of the other naked people on his boat.

"Are you sure? It's right on her -" She stopped. She'd been about to say "pussy" but couldn't quite use that word in front of her uncle.

"Where?" asked Bob.

"Right here," said Mandy, placing one slim fingertip on her fluff of pubic hair. "Except she doesn't have any hair there," she added. "It's letters of some kind, but I couldn't see them because you were hauling me down here so fast."

"Those men were all looking at you," he said.

"I know. It made me feel like I was going to fly into pieces," she said. "It was very strange, but I kind of liked it at the same time."

"They were lusting after you," he said, his voice low.

"I know that too," she said. "But I also know you won't let anything happen to me. You'll protect me from them."

"Yeah," Bob sighed. "But who'll protect you from me?"

"Who says I want to be protected from you?" she asked lightly.

"That doesn't help, Mandy," he groaned.

"Who says I'm trying to help?" She grinned.

"Damn!" he grunted, and whirled, to go up on deck.

"Potty mouth!" He heard the tinkle of her laugh and thought about going back to the bridge cabin for another round of relief.

The sun was down, and the breeze was light. As rough as the night before had been, this one was calm and delightful. Couples, still naked, were scattered around the deck, sitting together, some of them necking, or talking softly.

Bob had broken out the booze to celebrate weathering the storm. There was general enthusiasm about it until he informed them it would be rationed. After grousing about that for a bit, they settled down to sip what he dispensed, and drifted off into groups of two. The older folks and Rupert took their drinks to their stateroom and closed the door.

Along with the last of their clothes, other rules about polite behavior in public seemed to have been dispensed with as well. Though it wasn't quite dark, it was obvious that some of the couples intended to pursue the ultimate pleasure right there on deck, under the stars.