Chapter 43

Johanna's turn:

Friday! I was never one of that 'TGIF' bunch who LIVES for Fridays before. Before Stoney.

Now? Maybe. Just a little bit.

We swapped vehicles this morning. He drove my little hatchback to work. I took his SUV to campus. And at three, after class, I was loading bags into it at the apartment. That way, when he got home, we'd be ready to head to the marina.

I can't wait. Yes! I get excited. I know, really, we have as much privacy as two people could possibly ask for here in our apartment, but there's something about being out on the boat. To me it's a palpable sense of isolation. The first time I experienced it with Stoney, before we WERE Stoney 'n' Jo, it was almost a physical feeling, like I had a freedom to be ME around HIM that just wasn't quite there on dry land.

I smiled at the thought. No, make that 'thoughts'. I'd heard other girls talk about being excited about some guy or another. I used to write it off as just 'talk'. Now I know. I know that there's an animalistic amount of tingling that goes on in anticipation of a guy and a girl and a boat anchored out on a dark bay.

"Mom, can I talk to you about a delicate subject?" I had to ask Mom. Mom, whom I trusted. I asked a few girls at school, but you never know who's got an agenda, even Key. I knew that Key was no prude. She and Hutch, well, frequently, she said, and enthusiastically, too, but I wanted to ask the most trusted of sources: Mom.

"Yes, dear one, you may."

"I get these feelings about Stoney. I mean, when I know he's coming home, sometimes, and especially if we're planning on going out on the boat."

"Tingles. Rattles. Wiggles. A happy warmth?"

"Yes, Mom."

"You didn't invent those, dear, and I am quite familiar with them myself."

"It's normal, then?"

My mother sighed. Sighed! And I knew what she was sighing about. "Happily, for you and me, yes. I understand that some unfortunate women do not experience these feelings. We are quite fortunate. Apparently some of the candles I burned for you have brought my prayers to reality."

"Oh," I giggled. "My dear mother prayed that her daughter would get all gooshy over some guy. You may have warped me."

"I didn't pray about you and SOME guy, Johanna Elise. I prayed about you and THE guy. And proudly I will accept your warpage."

So I had the phone call. Stoney always calls me when he's in the car, lined up to get out of the parking garage on the way home. I have nothing left to do but wait.

Check email. There's one from Cindy and Kara that they're enroute to Alabama, them and Dan, Cindy's husband, and Nikki, who's there for the ride this time. I feel relieved. I think good things will happen to Kara. The idea that I may have played a little part, that's a pleasant feeling.

I reply to the email, letting them know that we'll be on the boat and off the grid for the weekend. We do that. We both carry smartphones, and even in the middle of the bay, we can get reception, so we're not isolated. I mean, iPad? Makes it nice if you get a desire to find a fact or a book or a bit of knowledge, but you won't see Jo and Stoney ignoring each other over iPhones.

Oh, yes, we both read. I dunno. How DO you read when your partner is in close proximity? We curl up together, sometimes side by side, sometimes at opposite ends, legs mixed in a crazy knot, and we read. It's a quiet time, separate, yet oh so together. And it breaks up when something intrudes. That 'something' can be a growling stomach, meaning it's mealtime, or it can be my body waking up and saying 'Hey! That guy next to you ... he can surely provide some really good feelings.' Or his body doing the same thing, usually manifested by something hot and hard, or a roll over and a kiss that makes the air glow around us.

Or we'll be sitting in the cabin, him with his banjo, me with my flute, making music like we're making love, happy, free, sweet. Like it's supposed to be.

I let my mind drift along, sort of flowing with the anticipation of the upcoming weekend. My thoughts concluded with the sound of a key in the doorlock. I was up, waiting for him to clear the door so I could get the first kiss of the evening. Gosh, I guess I sound silly, but that's okay. The reward is worth it.

Stoney drops his computer case beside the sofa and goes into the bedroom to don his sweater for the trip. It's still a little nippy in the springtime, perfect weather for him to wear Mom's gift to her sailing enthusiast son-in-law, a hand knit Norwegian wool fisherman's sweater. Now we match. I'm wearing its smaller sister.

And out the door we go. Friday afternoon trip outbound means fighting the traffic as most of the middle of Houston tries to get out of town. We're in there with the right music playing. Stoney's driving. Finally we get off the freeway and onto the secondary road, then onto the little road to the marina.

I wave at Gary as we drive past the office. By the time we get backed into the parking slot, his golfcart is pulling up beside us.

"Going out again," he asks.

I nod.

"Yes," Stoney says. "Be back Sunday. Need to talk to you about a haul-out, too. Need a bottom job."

"Just let me know. You gonna do 'er yourself?"

"Don't see why not," Stoney said. "You pressure-wash 'er, Jo and I will put the paint on."

That's a fact of life for boats that stay in the water here. Once a year, you pull 'em out of the water, clean the hull, then repaint it with bottom paint, specially formulated to retard the growth of barnacles and seaweed and such. I knew of such things. Had never actually done one. Stoney says he has. So we can. And it's what we need to do to have our little refuge ready for another year.

We made short work of loading the bags and supplies for the two-night trip, Gary stood by to free up our last dock line, and we were off, motoring slowly up the channel of the marina, then out into the channel to the bay itself, and finally, the sail went up, the motor was shut down, and we were under sail. At last.

This is routine. Yeah, like 'taking a kid to an amusement park' routine. I'm getting almost giddy by the time Stoney's standing at the bow, setting the anchor.

I guess it showed, because when Stoney turned around, he broke into a grin. "We're here, Princess. Miles from anybody else. Me and you. And you look happy about it."

I showed him exactly HOW happy. I grasped the hem of my blouse under my sweater and pulled both of them up under my arms, showing him my titties. He says they're perfect, then I will assume he likes to see them, so I show them. And I note the bulge that rapidly appears in the front of his pants.

Idea! I have one! "Come here, Stoney! Sit right there!" I pointed to the aft edge of the cabin.

He complied, his feet dangling into the cabin, knees a little bit apart. I pushed them further apart and insinuated myself between them and started fiddling with his belt.

"Stop that! We're gonna get caught!"

I simply smiled at him. "There's not another boat in sight." And kept working on that buckle. Got it opened. Next was the top button of his pants, then –ZIP!!—

"You're crazy!" but he was smiling when he said it. And hard. And getting harder.

By the time I got that dick fished out, the head was purple, wet, and straining. This one wasn't going to take long. I licked my lips and bent down. "Mmmmmmm!"

"Oh, Godddddd, Johanna..."

Yep! He likes it. From this angle, there's that little spot right under the head, where the head sort of divides and merges into the shaft. My tongue finds it and I feel him quiver, then hear him suck in a breath. He's pulsing inside my mouth.

I open my lips wide, lightly grip his shaft with my teeth, right behind that luscious purple head. Let my tongue play. I have to be careful. There's a fine line with teeth. He loves it, right up to the point where it hurts him. I love it, feeling him vibrate like a string on his banjo.

Careful. Because I enjoy it too much myself. A moment's loss of control and I could hurt the one I love most. My lips close again and I suck, slowly pushing downward, taking him deeper into my mouth, then back up, my tongue wiping that shaft until I can curl the tip to hit that spot.

His hands caress the back of my head. That's a sign. Stoney would NEVER force me to do something. He's not holding me there with his hands, he's caressing me as I love him with my mouth. I keep soft movements: slide down, suck, pull back, hit that spot with a little teasing, then again. Each time I get salty, tasty juice. I keep on, suck, pull back, tease ... and a few of those and I feel movement, different than the shaking I've been producing in him.

This is a throb. That thing I have in my mouth, it's throbbing, each pulse separated from the next, and I know what's happening and I like it and I keep going, my mouth making those pulses build. And ... Gulp! Yes. Suck. Gulp! Yes! And I keep going on him until the pulses no longer produce surges of juice in my mouth, just a steady flow, and if I keep sucking gently I can keep him rolling in orgasm for a while. And if it's done right, he'll go and go until he starts getting soft and I have DONE my man the way I want to do him.

When he's soft, I slowly pull back as I gently suction him.

"When you can move, I need kisses."

"I owe you."

"You need to put down a towel. That top is cold to my heinie."

He nodded. Made some more noises loosely associated with speech, slid down off the cabin top, and gathered me into his arms. And kissed me.

I know from talking to other girls that with most guys, a kiss after a blowjob (their term, not mine – too coarse for what I felt just now) was taboo. Stoney kissed me. I hadn't made a dash to the bathroom for mouthwash and toothbrush. Not now. Not the first time. He kissed me. The same way he always kisses me, sensations override my ocular nerve and I can't see anything but light. Kisses me.

After a bit, he backed up. "Strip 'em!"

"Strip what?"

"Your pants. Take 'em off and sit up here. I'll get a towel!"