Chapter 8

In the way of a sailor, Tom was almost instantly awake with the bleep of his alarm, but took a few moments to revel in the presence of the woman he ... yes ... loved, and wanted to spend his life with. Somehow, though, he wasn't ready to ask her for that ultimate commitment despite her apparent willingness to offer it.

Gently, he extricated his arm and slid down and out of the bunk. Chrissie made a sort of mewling sound and her hand groped for him, but he was gone. She fought her way to full consciousness. The last few days had demonstrated to her how much she needed Tom; as a lover, yes, but also as a friend and companion. She crawled out of bed, remembered to empty her bladder, put on deck-shoes and gloves (to protect her hands from the roughening by rope-handling and salt spray) and went up into the cockpit.

Tom had the mainsail hoisted and was heaving in the anchor chain. Peewit was pointing at the beach, facing into the light wind which now had a little south in it; it had backed as Tom predicted. She picked her way forward.

"Can I do anything?"

"Chain's coming up clean ... sandy or shingle bottom here. If you'd like to go back to the cockpit, untie the tiller and hold it across to port. Probably unnecessary, but once the anchor's off the bottom that should bring us round as we drift backwards. If we start to move forwards, though, put it a little to starb'd, okay?"

"Left side until we start to move forwards then a little to the right?"

"That's it. Good girl ... always check if you're not sure."

He carried on heaving in chain, until it was almost vertical. "Up and down," he called, meaning the anchor was about to leave the bottom and the boat should start moving. Everything went according to plan, Chrissie obeyed her instructions and Tom, looking round, saw everything was under control so went about securing the anchor to the pulpit rail before making his way aft.

"Very good, sweetheart. Steer south-south-west for now." He watched surreptitiously as she adjusted their course, meanwhile he adjusted the set of the mainsail and unfurled the staysail. "You okay for a bit?"

"Oh, yes. This is fun!"

It is surprising, if you've been brought up in a city, how much can be seen at night if the sky is clear. There was a three-quarter moon as well as the stars and with their eyes adjusted, the only artificial light the compass light, it was almost a fairy-tale world.

Tom went below and relieved himself, then poured two cups of coffee to drink with a couple of Snickers bars.

"Like me to take over while you drink it?"

"I'll be okay ... I think." She sipped her way partly down the mug until she could safely put it on the cockpit seat as she ate her Snickers.

They'd been underway perhaps half an hour as they approached the deep-water channel into Harwich Haven. There seemed to be no big ships about, so Tom let Chrissie carry on, the sky lightening as the dawn approached. At the Medusa buoy, it was fully light. Tom took over and brought Peewit as close to the wind as he could without 'pinching', but he could tell they couldn't 'make good' the course he wanted; they'd need at least one tack, possibly more if the wind continued to back.

"Would you like to go back to bed?" His question to Chrissie was neutral in tone.

"I'd rather stay up with you. I don't think I'd sleep without you, anyway," her response was tentative but genuine.

"That's nice. I'm glad," Tom told her, "we can cuddle and you can poke me if I drift off to sleep."

"With your arm round me, I'm likely to drift off myself!"

She spoke correctly; she was asleep leaning against him before Tom noted the Wallet 2 buoy away off to port. It wasn't an ideal position; he wanted to shift and move his arm, but he didn't. They passed the Wallet 4 buoy an hour and a half from the Medusa and Tom had to move Chrissie in order to tack; she woke and helped with the sheets. Although she moved back into the same position, it was less than half an hour before Tom had to tack again, but that one took them to the Wallet Spitway buoy, effectively the entrance to the Blackwater. However, the tide was about to turn and they had a three-hour beat to reach Mersea Quarters, where they anchored and fell into bed, fully dressed (but for footwear) for a few hours until they had the tide with them to proceed up towards Maldon.

It took four hours to beat to Osea Island in the light wind but then they were, blissfully, 'free' up to Hilly Pool Point.

"Sweetheart, I don't know about you, but I'm tired. We could anchor here and finish the trip to Maldon in the morning, or we could motor..."

"Tom, I really think I'd like to finish in Maldon tonight..."

"Okay..." they rounded the point and Tom started the motor, "the wind's backed even more and it'd be a dead beat along Collier's Reach, but we'd probably manage the rest under sail. I must admit I'd be happier berthed at the quay. I rather think the weather's going to deteriorate."

Indeed, having motored the mile past Heybridge, they were able to sail the last mile or so and slip into Peewit's berth under sail. It was half an hour before high water. They did a harbour stow and made sure Peewit was perfectly tidy.

"Showers..." Tom said, "then either back here or a cabin on board Reminder..."

"Here, if you don't mind, Tom."

"Why should I mind? I have you in my power, wench!"

She giggled, "I've been in your power for years, even if you didn't realise it."

There's something ... sybaritic ... about even a basic shower when you've been living in, well, primitive conditions. Sadly, unless you're very rich, you don't get showers, or even instant hot water, on board a boat and Tom's Peewit, while very good in its way, could only be described as primitive, the only 'mod. con.' being the sea toilet. They spent rather longer than usual under the (separate) showers. Back at Peewit, though, they wasted no time in removing the clean clothes they'd just put on and climbing into bed. Tom didn't crawl immediately up alongside Chrissie, though.

When she realised he was homing in on her crotch, she tried to clamp her legs together but was too late, he was licking her even as she appeared to be trying to crush his head between her thighs. Rather soon her protests;

"Tom ... no ... you can't ... you mustn't," changed to "Oohs" and "Ahs" before transitioning to squeaks and gasps followed by a little scream as she came. The sound was lost in the noise from the pub nearby, but she lay limp as Tom crawled the last distance to lay beside her.

"Oh ... my ... God ... I can't believe you did that to me..."

"I've been dreaming of it," Tom said.

"It was fantastic. Have you ... I mean ... we never did anything like that before."

"I told you. There's been no-one else. I just ... read a lot. And thought ... wow ... I bet Chrissie tastes great. And you do."

"Your face is all wet," she said, kissing him.

"You're to blame for that," he smiled.

"It really doesn't taste bad ... Would you like me to ... do the same ... for you ... I mean..."