Chapter 7: We Start Exploring

We steamed north to the immediate southern edge of the Bay of Fundy--a seaside town called St. Andrews. It was a nasty, misty, blowing sort of day when we tied up to the dock.

We headed for the Red Herring Pub for a hot meal and a couple of cold ales. We weren't disappointed. The folk were friendly and didn't mind a couple of strangers, as long as we didn't drink the bar dry! We only had a couple pints each and a couple plates of bangers and mash. Then we headed back to the ship.

We were chilled so we filled our tub for the first time. I wore a conservative, loose pair of board shorts. Angie came about and loosed a broadside! She wore a little black bikini. We laid back and drank rum & cokes. We ended up playing footsie and grinning at each other. This was going kind of far so I grabbed her foot and tried to talk to her.

"Angie, I'm attracted to you--a lot. I don't mind playing games, in fact I'm all in favor! But if it goes any further it's you're push. I'm not gonna play my hand because you still might be kind of fucked up from what happened at the bar we took out. If you want company my door's open, but I'm not gonna push."

We looked each other in the eye for what seemed like forever. Then she dropped her other foot down my belly and slowly rubbed it across my equipment. That was all the prompting I needed. I slowly crawled across the tub and took her into my arms. We kissed each exploring new territory with the other. We hugged and relaxed with her resting on top of my chest. Her back felt smooth and sleek as I petted her from neck to butt as she purred and scratched my chest in little circles.

Soon the water began to cool. I handed her out of the tub, pulled the plug and stood close to her when we toweled each other off. I gave her a little peck and a hug. She smiled and turned away towards her bunk. It was going to be a cold berth that night.

I rose early in the wee hours of the morning to dump a load of piss. I returned to my berth and found a teddy bear--a five-foot-nothing curly haired teddy bear that wanted to cuddle. I slept very, very well the rest of the night with a hand-full of A+ cup booby. Come morning I cuddled up with my little bed warmer and gave her a squeeze. She wheezed like an out-of-tune calliope and begged uncle. I rolled her up atop me and grinned.

"I LIKE waking up with you. You bring the colors back into my life." I gave her a little squeeze and relaxed, smiling up at her.

"Either you've got to back off on the hugs or we're gonna have to get some rubber sheets before you squeeze the piss outta me!"

I pulled her cheek down to beside mine and stroked her back.

"You've got about five years to stop that." Sigh. "I've got to empty my holding tank then it's time for breakfast."

"Oh, you cold, cruel woman. The demands you put upon me."

She snorted, slapped my chest and headed for the head, if that makes any sense. While she made breakfast I wiped down the tub with vinegar and gave it a flush.

Bacon and eggs, toast and kisses started our day. We cruised south; into and out of the bays, inlets and islands making up northern Maine for three weeks taking plenty of photographs and noting the location of each shot.

We finally came into Portland harbor. I looked at her and she looked at me.

"I'm not declaring any time in Canada, are you?"

"Nope. I'm not stupid either. Fuck customs."

The Portmaster directed us to the government dock where we showed our papers. A few evil glances were directed towards our turret. I pointed to the paperwork declaring our ship a contracted platform involving a classified naval experimental weapons integration system. Not another word was said. I must admit it was a masterful bit of redirection--slight-of-hand, if you will. The paperwork was quite broad in its specifications (Evil Grin!).

We locked up and headed ashore for lunch where we hired a taxi for the day. First we hit J's Oyster Bar followed by The Portland Lobster Company. Then we hit the Old Port Sea Grill and Raw Bar. We were about done in but tried one more place--Gritty Mcduff's. What a hoot of a bar! Thank god that we had retained the taxi. Nobody seemed to mind that we were a salt-and-pepper couple, thank god, or things could have gotten out of hand. We were both armed and were both stupid drunk enough to shoot. We poured each other into bed.

Come morning we both had a bit of "wine flu" but got over it with enough water and Advil. We headed back into town that afternoon to visit a couple of book stores and hit the Harbor Fish Market for a bit of fresh, and lots of smoked, fish. I found a pedestal mounted gas grill that fit in nicely on our stern deck. I'd have to learn how to use it, and maybe replace a couple of the jets to accommodate my taste for quick-seared beef. It bolted to the mounts the ship's contractor had built into the deck.

We sailed south to Portsmouth, a name that rings down from history. We steamed upstream for a couple of miles and found nothing but over-built-up naval suburbia. In disgust we backed out of the estuary and fled down the coast to search for an honest berth.

We hove to in another port with an old name: Gloucester. There was no port authority in charge of that mess of piers and tie-off buoys, davits and pull-outs. We spent several hours on the ship-to-shore trying to find a berth. Finally, we found a nice protected dock at Bickford Marina. It cost an arm and a leg but we expected that. Young Jim Bickford agreed to squire us around for a reasonable fee. I raised an eyebrow at Angie, and she at me. We agreed to see what this city was about. Jim was willing to give us a native's eye view of where to eat, drink and party. First we went to Rudder's, one of the first seafood shops in the admittedly old city. Next we hit Smokin' Jim's barbecue. It was pretty damned good BBQ considering where we were! Near there we hit breakfast the next morning—at Zeke's Place. It was breakfast done right ... just don't expect biscuits & gravy or grits. They had lots of fried potatoes with onions and various smoked pork products. You could even get fried kippers 'n eggs which I found to be unbelievably good when made with smoked kippers. (uhh, big sardines? Stunted fatty trout? kinda like that.[Editor's note: smoked Herring]) It gives you real mean farts, though.