Chapter 5

We both washed and dressed properly, she insisted that she walk with me to the Harbour-master's office, where we were allocated a new berth.

"I want to learn more about sailing," she said, "I may never get to use it, but I want to learn."

Well, I always enjoyed teaching the occasional girl that really wanted to learn. Almost as much as I enjoyed their bodies, so that was no problem. I insisted, though, that she did the move by the book. Which meant running over procedures, such as running the fan to ventilate the engine space before starting, even though it was a diesel, and the radio procedures.

"You must repeat each element of the message," I told her. "In this case, 'Berwick Harbour, Berwick Harbour, this is Serendipity, Serendipity, Ready to move, ready to move, over.' Off you go."

She looked at me, colouring slightly.

"I know it feels a bit silly," I said, "but you get used to it, and it's the right way. It's to ensure the message is not misunderstood."

She pressed the transmit button and managed to get the message out clearly, without stumbling. I thought I could detect amusement in the reply, though.

"Serendipity, Serendipity, this is Berwick Harbour, Berwick Harbour. You are clear to move at your discretion, clear to move at your discretion, over." He was not going to be outdone in punctilious adherence to procedure.

She looked at me. "Just say thanks, Grace. No need to repeat, I think."

"Thank you, Berwick. Casting off now," she looked at me and nodded at the warps. I took the hint and went to retrieve our mooring lines. I heard the response, though.

"You're welcome, Serendipity."

It took the better part of an hour to make the move and moor up properly, as I thought it would be a good idea to top up the diesel tank and drinking water, too. Then we changed, packed a change of underthings in a bag with some other essentials, and set off.

We stopped for coffee and a light lunch, booked in at the King's Head for a double room and evening meal, and went for a wander about the town. Our wandering was pretty aimless, really, but our conversation was not, covering emergency procedures as well as sailing technique.

"So what's the difference between a 'pan, pan, ' call and a 'mayday'?" Grace was frowning.

"Mayday is for situations where there is immediate danger to life and limb," I told her, "say, you've got a fire on board, or you're dis-masted, the engine won't start and you're drifting towards rocks. 'Pan, pan, ' is for a serious problem where you need help or advice, but where there's no immediate panic."

"Oh..."

"You can always upgrade your call," I added, "but 'pan, pan, ' gives you a priority over other calls. Other than a mayday, of course. The Coastguard might, probably would, assign you a different frequency, get you off channel sixteen."

We found ourselves on the Rampart again, looking out to sea. I suppose there's something about it that draws a seaman. We sat on a bench and my arm sort of naturally found its way round her shoulders.

"This is nice," she sighed.

"It is," I agreed.

"I wish..."

"What do you wish?"

She was silent, leaning in against me.

"Nothing," she said eventually.

"It was something," I corrected.

"Yes," she admitted, "but not now. Maybe, never."

I didn't press her.

Back at the King's Head, they gave us a very satisfactory dinner. Grace permitted herself one glass of the Pinot Noir and we shared sea stories, or, in her case, hospital stories.

"Black humour is a necessity, I suppose," she said. "But there's humour to be found in a lot of situations. I was assisting in theatre once, as a student. The patient was under an epidural as he had a bad chest. He was having a hernia repair. Conscious, of course. When a patient is having a major procedure under local anaesthetic, he ... or she ... has someone talking to them throughout the procedure. In this case, the chap had a medical student talking to him. There we were, I was holding a retractor while the surgeon was doing what he needed to do, and the student told the chap a joke. We had to stop and wait while his internals stopped surging about. Then there're the 'good news, bad news' jokes. Like the one about the man who went in for an amputation. 'The bad news is, we took the wrong leg off. The good news is, the bad one is getting better.'"

I talked about spinning for mackerel, seeing seals and dolphins, multi-coloured jelly-fish floating by. After a while, I was comfortable enough to start telling stories about mistakes I'd made, like the time I'd anchored too close to a muddy shore and the boat sat down on the anchor-chain; I'd had to wait for the tide then paddle off with the kedge anchor so I could get the boat clear.

Past nine o'clock, she interrupted what I was saying about sea-birds on the Farne Islands.

"I don't want to wait any longer."

Well, I was certainly ready, so we made our way upstairs. We looked round the room; Grace walked to the window and looked out over the old square outside before drawing the curtains.

"I'm not quite ready to parade around naked in front of a window," she commented, catching my eye.

"Neither am I," I chuckled. "Mind you, when it's warm, it's quite nice to move around a boat at sea naked."

She looked thoughtful. "Hmmm..." then started stripping off. She looked at me, standing there. "Well! Don't just stand there..."

It wasn't the first time we'd seen each other naked, of course; not even the first time we were going to be intimate, but it was somehow different. Not uncomfortable, just different.

"It's strange," she commented, thoughtfully, "how comfortable I am, like this, with you."

"I was thinking much the same," I said. "I just want to say, though, I think you're beautiful. Quite lovely. And ... sexy, too."

She blushed darkly. "There I was feeling comfortable, and you say something like that!" She walked up to me, almost touching, held my face in both hands and drew it down to kiss me. "But, thank you. I might even come to believe you in time."

I stroked my hands down her back and she shivered.

"Let's get in the shower before you turn my legs to jelly," she smiled.

So we did. There's something uniquely sensual about showering together. By the time we'd finished making sure our partner was squeaky clean ... is that grammatical? It doesn't sound right, but I don't know how else to put it ... and had thoroughly explored each other's slippery contours, we were ready. At least, I was, quite obviously, ready. Dried, we returned to the bedroom, but before we got into bed she stopped me.

"Ted..."

"Yes, Sweet?"

"When you ... licked me ... it was really good."

"And I have every intention of doing it again."

"Can I ... do the same to you? Please?"

"If you would like to, then yes."

"Isn't there a way we can ... I mean, both at the same time?"

"They call it 'sixty-nine'," I said.

"Okay ... can we?"

"F'sure," I said, "but ... several things ... you'd better be on top, so you're in better control, no teeth, please, and, Grace, you probably won't make me come that way."

"No? Doesn't matter. I want to feel you come inside me again."

So I laid on the bed and she got on top; I got to explore her pretty pink pussy with my tongue and she got to experiment with her mouth on my penis. It was most enjoyable, but I was no-where near coming. Grace called a halt after she'd had a couple of small orgasms, saying her jaw ached, so we got back to face-to-face. She stayed on top, though, saying she liked it that way. So did I, appreciating her lissom curves, neat, perky tits, with their nipples standing hard and proud ... with both my eyes and my hands. At one point, I sat up while she rocked on me and took a nipple in my mouth. When I released it, she said,

"Don't neglect the other one..."

Who was I to disagree? After giving her second nipple equal attention, I sat straighter, with my arms round her, so her tits rubbed against my chest as she moved, then I kissed her. So sweet...

She came again and shortly after I shot my load into her, which caused her to come again, hard. When she finished shuddering, she lay down on my chest and straightened her legs.

"I love this," she said.

"It's wonderful," I agreed, still inside her, though softening a little. Then ... she did something with her pussy muscles – what I've learned to call 'pelvic floor' muscles, or 'Kegel' muscles and suddenly I was hardening again. She was watching my face carefully and giggled when she could tell I was surprised.

"Can we try doggy?" she asked. "It seems your ... equipment ... has a new lease of life."

We changed position. I had to come out of her so she could turn over and I was surprised – again – when I realised I felt ... deprived. But she got on her knees, bottom in the air, face on the bed, and I thrust into her again. It was ... okay. More than okay. But ... just ... not as good. Mind you, she had a lovely bottom. Peach-like. I thrust away for several minutes.

"Grace..." I spoke without stopping, "would you mind ... I'd rather be face to face."

"No. Not at all. I know what you mean. Could we try on our sides?"

I slipped out of her again until we were in position. Face-to-face, on our sides, we could move languidly and luxuriate in the sensations. At least, I could. I just ... revelled in the feel of her pussy enclosing me. And we could look into each other's eyes, and kiss, and caress. It was much better. Her right leg, the 'top' one, hooked over my left, our torsos slightly separated so our hands could reach between; I wanted to play with her pretty breasts, she twirled my chest hair and played with my nipples. We carried on for ages and I'm not sure which of us came first, but we were near enough together. We held each other – the light was still on – as we drifted off to sleep.

It's not surprising we woke about one a.m., with the light still on, but we both went to the toilet and had a drink of water. Back in bed, our hands wandered some more and, to my amazement, I managed another erection. Which Grace found.

"Ted, I hope you don't mind..." she touched my face gently, "I'd love to go again, but I'm a little sore."

I turned the light out. "Turn away from me," I said, and spooned up behind her, cupping her right tit in my left hand. "This is just fine." I slipped my right arm under her head and found I could cup her left tit with my right hand.

"Mmmm," she hummed, and her left hand found my hip and stroked my thigh.

Which is all I remembered. Until the sun got high enough to percolate through gaps in the thick curtains. She was on her back and I was on my side facing her, my right arm still under her neck, my left laying on her, my hand just under the low, but firm, mound of her breast. I moved it – without conscious thought – to lay over that delightful feature.

Her eyes opened and she turned her head to look at me, a smile lighting her face. Her hand moved and cupped my cheek.

"Thank you," she said, simply.

"It was my pleasure."

"I meant, thank you for being here this morning."

"It's still my pleasure."