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Ch. 70: Christie Has Needs
**NOTE: This chapter is more about surviving a storm at sea, although some sex appears at the end. **
I had only planned on staying at this marina for a couple of days. Running into Liz and the unexpected funeral had seen me extend my stay for nearly two weeks. Although this was a Class A marina, with all the amenities, it was also quite expensive. It was time to move on.
I spent my last day there doing laundry, shopping for last minute food and booze items and getting the boat ready for my next passage. I spent my last night there studying charts, looking for suitable spots to perch.
In the morning, I followed my usual routine: a quick hand job, then coffee. Afterwards, I fired up the motor and prepared to cast off. Gliding out of the slip, I headed for the inlet and, beyond, open water. It felt good to be underway again. It was a beautiful day, sunny, a 10-knot wind, relatively calm waters.
As the day progressed, the wind picked up speed and changed direction. It was now coming at me from directly ahead. Even a novice sailor knows that one cannot sail directly into the wind. So, I had to tack or change my heading in order to keep going. The wind was picking up speed and moving parallel to the shore. This meant that I had to point away from the land, farther and farther out into open water.
In addition to the increase in wind speed, there was an ominous bank of dark clouds extending all around. I pulled up a few of my weather apps and saw that a serious storm front was headed my way. And I was headed away from shore!
Fearing the worst, I engaged the auto-pilot and went below. I secured what I could and battened all the hatches. I retrieved my foul weather gear from the locker, keeping it ready at hand.
I was now out of sight of the land; nothing but open water in every direction, with a big storm bearing down on me. I changed my course so that I was now headed back towards land and reefed in my sails. None to soon, either. Suddenly, all hell broke loose.
The wind whipped up to 25-30 knots and it started pelting rain. The wind was gusting to 40 knots making the boat heel over considerably. The waves had increased to 5 to 7 feet, showing whitecaps all around. It was a bouncy, frolicking ride.
The boat would ride up a tall wave, then smash down into the trough as the next wave would crash over the bow, drenching the deck. It was all I could do to hang onto the wheel, the boat pitching and bucking as Mother Nature released her furry on me.
My radar showed that this storm front was large. This was going to go on for some time. I still couldn’t see land; heck, I couldn’t see more that a boat length ahead of me through the driving rain. The wind and waves were unrelenting. About every fifth wave would come careening up the side of the boat, curl over the gunwale and dump it's furry on me, like a shower. I felt like a drowned rat.
I held on for dear life as the rain, wind and waves pummeled my boat. With the wind howling all around me, I tried to calm myself by reliving some of the exquisite sex I had been having. Visions of all my recent lovers flashed through my mind.
My brain flitted from one to another, little vignettes of perky tits, wide hips, tight little assholes. I thought about my niece’s fetish for having cum squirted all over her face and body. I remembered being drugged and handcuffed by Sadie. I thought about the various “harbor whores” that hopped from boat to boat, selling their bodies to score their next hit of crack cocaine. I wondered if the raffle town had been busted yet.
These and many more thoughts crowded my brain. I had been enduring this storm for nearly two hours; I was ready for some calm water and a stiff drink.
I continued to ride out the storm, still headed towards land. My charts showed that I was still about 10 miles offshore. The storm was still raging, blowing the rain nearly sideways. I was fatigued, no longer having the stamina I had when I was 20 years old. All I wanted was for this to end, to return me to my sheltered life. I longed for a calming drink and some soothing sex.
In another hour or so, I could finally see land ahead. I was still several miles offshore but the storm was abating. The rain had subsided, turning into just a moderate drizzle. The wind had died down some, now only blowing at 15 knots.
With the wind and waves now in a more manageable state, I relaxed some. I referenced my charts and saw an inlet about 5 miles further along the coast. Churning along at 7 knots, I’d be there in just under an hour. There appeared to be an anchorage area just inside the inlet, although I didn’t see any marinas nearby.
It was just after 4 p.m. when I dropped anchor in a small bight or bayou, just inside the inlet. There were three other boats anchored there but still plenty of room to swing on 100 feet of anchor chain. The storm had passed and the sky cleared up.
Once I was secured to the bottom, I grabbed a bottle of rum and a glass, taking them to the cockpit. The rum felt therapeutic as it washed down my throat, warming my insides. I surveyed my surroundings, trying to see if there was life aboard any of my neighbors. Sure enough, there appeared to be activity on at least two of the boats.
I still had my VHF radio turned on and it startled me when a call came on. “This is catamaran Knot Working, catamaran Knot Working calling for the sailboat that just anchored. Knot Working call for the monohull sailboat. Come back.” I grabbed the radio microphone and replied “This is SailorMan calling for Knot Working. Let’s go to 68.” “Copy that.”
For the uninitiated, VHF channel 16 is the “hailing” or “working” channel. It’s monitored by all boats, including the Coast Guard and law enforcement. Once contact is made, however, you switch to a less busy channel for your conversation.
The people on Knot Working invited me over for drinks, seeing as I was a new arrival. After a long, harrowing day at sea, it’s just what I needed. I dropped the dinghy and took some supplies over to their boat.
A young man in his 20s grabbed my painter and helped me aboard. There were three souls aboard: an older man, probably 50; the 20-year-old guy and a smoking hot twat, also in her 20s. I tried to figure out if it was dad and two kids or dad and one kid with a girlfriend, or …. Lots of possibilities.
We made introductions. It turns out that Clive, the “dad” was, in fact, uncle to the boy, Steve. The hottie was Christie, Steve’s squeeze. They were spending a year aboard, cruising around Florida.
We sat on their aft-deck enjoying our beverages and the calm after the storm. Christie seemed to take an interest in me. Her attention was focused on me, hanging on every word. It was affirming to have a hot girl pay so much attention to me, yet awkward at the same time. Steve would say something to her and she would completely ignore him, keeping her rapt attention aimed at me.
Christie was a real looker. A beautiful face, and a rockin’ body. Her blonde hair was cut short for easy maintenance on the boat. Her face was a classic oval with pretty, almond shaped eyes. She had on the tiniest bikini known to man. The top barely covered even her nipples; the rest of her rack in plain view. The bottom matched: just enough fabric to cover her snatch to keep her from getting arrested.
After we had exchanged pleasantries and talk of the storm, Christie said “I need to freshen my drink. Sailor, could you come help?” Somewhat surprised at her invitation, I looked at both Clive and Steve. They both nodded approval.
Once inside the main salon, she grabbed my hand and led me down to the starboard hull or pontoon, containing the bedrooms. As soon as we got into the forward stateroom, she turned to look at me. “You’re gonna love this. Drop your drawers, Sailor, and hang on.”
“But, Christie, the others are topside. We shouldn’t be alone here like this.” “Nonsense, Sailor. They’re the only two dicks I’ve had in months. I need some fresh meat. Now you either get your cock out or I’m going in after it!”
There was no foreplay, no kissing, no titty grab. She was a woman on a mission, intent on only one thing: sucking my dick.
With my bottoms on the floor, she dropped to her knees. Even though she was a ravishing beauty, my friend was hanging down limp. It didn’t take her long to get him aroused, standing at attention, ready for duty.
She gave me an exhilarating blowjob. She was skilled and, apparently, out to show me just how skilled she was. After a long day battling a ferocious storm and a few slugs of rum, I was weak. She pulled out all the stops, allowing me to do as I pleased in her mouth. I didn’t last long. I blasted my cumload in her mouth. It was almost a ferocious orgasm, overtaking all my senses. My knees got weak, my vision blurred, out of breath. I staggered and fell on the bed, delirious.
“I told you you’d like it. Was I right, or what?” I could just moan in agreement. “If you hang around for a day or two, I’ll entertain you with my other talents” she said with certainty. “I’m kind of bored with the same two cocks day in and day out. You’re just what I need. Please stick around for Act 2.”
**NOTE: This chapter is more about surviving a storm at sea, although some sex appears at the end. **
I had only planned on staying at this marina for a couple of days. Running into Liz and the unexpected funeral had seen me extend my stay for nearly two weeks. Although this was a Class A marina, with all the amenities, it was also quite expensive. It was time to move on.
I spent my last day there doing laundry, shopping for last minute food and booze items and getting the boat ready for my next passage. I spent my last night there studying charts, looking for suitable spots to perch.
In the morning, I followed my usual routine: a quick hand job, then coffee. Afterwards, I fired up the motor and prepared to cast off. Gliding out of the slip, I headed for the inlet and, beyond, open water. It felt good to be underway again. It was a beautiful day, sunny, a 10-knot wind, relatively calm waters.
As the day progressed, the wind picked up speed and changed direction. It was now coming at me from directly ahead. Even a novice sailor knows that one cannot sail directly into the wind. So, I had to tack or change my heading in order to keep going. The wind was picking up speed and moving parallel to the shore. This meant that I had to point away from the land, farther and farther out into open water.
In addition to the increase in wind speed, there was an ominous bank of dark clouds extending all around. I pulled up a few of my weather apps and saw that a serious storm front was headed my way. And I was headed away from shore!
Fearing the worst, I engaged the auto-pilot and went below. I secured what I could and battened all the hatches. I retrieved my foul weather gear from the locker, keeping it ready at hand.
I was now out of sight of the land; nothing but open water in every direction, with a big storm bearing down on me. I changed my course so that I was now headed back towards land and reefed in my sails. None to soon, either. Suddenly, all hell broke loose.
The wind whipped up to 25-30 knots and it started pelting rain. The wind was gusting to 40 knots making the boat heel over considerably. The waves had increased to 5 to 7 feet, showing whitecaps all around. It was a bouncy, frolicking ride.
The boat would ride up a tall wave, then smash down into the trough as the next wave would crash over the bow, drenching the deck. It was all I could do to hang onto the wheel, the boat pitching and bucking as Mother Nature released her furry on me.
My radar showed that this storm front was large. This was going to go on for some time. I still couldn’t see land; heck, I couldn’t see more that a boat length ahead of me through the driving rain. The wind and waves were unrelenting. About every fifth wave would come careening up the side of the boat, curl over the gunwale and dump it's furry on me, like a shower. I felt like a drowned rat.
I held on for dear life as the rain, wind and waves pummeled my boat. With the wind howling all around me, I tried to calm myself by reliving some of the exquisite sex I had been having. Visions of all my recent lovers flashed through my mind.
My brain flitted from one to another, little vignettes of perky tits, wide hips, tight little assholes. I thought about my niece’s fetish for having cum squirted all over her face and body. I remembered being drugged and handcuffed by Sadie. I thought about the various “harbor whores” that hopped from boat to boat, selling their bodies to score their next hit of crack cocaine. I wondered if the raffle town had been busted yet.
These and many more thoughts crowded my brain. I had been enduring this storm for nearly two hours; I was ready for some calm water and a stiff drink.
I continued to ride out the storm, still headed towards land. My charts showed that I was still about 10 miles offshore. The storm was still raging, blowing the rain nearly sideways. I was fatigued, no longer having the stamina I had when I was 20 years old. All I wanted was for this to end, to return me to my sheltered life. I longed for a calming drink and some soothing sex.
In another hour or so, I could finally see land ahead. I was still several miles offshore but the storm was abating. The rain had subsided, turning into just a moderate drizzle. The wind had died down some, now only blowing at 15 knots.
With the wind and waves now in a more manageable state, I relaxed some. I referenced my charts and saw an inlet about 5 miles further along the coast. Churning along at 7 knots, I’d be there in just under an hour. There appeared to be an anchorage area just inside the inlet, although I didn’t see any marinas nearby.
It was just after 4 p.m. when I dropped anchor in a small bight or bayou, just inside the inlet. There were three other boats anchored there but still plenty of room to swing on 100 feet of anchor chain. The storm had passed and the sky cleared up.
Once I was secured to the bottom, I grabbed a bottle of rum and a glass, taking them to the cockpit. The rum felt therapeutic as it washed down my throat, warming my insides. I surveyed my surroundings, trying to see if there was life aboard any of my neighbors. Sure enough, there appeared to be activity on at least two of the boats.
I still had my VHF radio turned on and it startled me when a call came on. “This is catamaran Knot Working, catamaran Knot Working calling for the sailboat that just anchored. Knot Working call for the monohull sailboat. Come back.” I grabbed the radio microphone and replied “This is SailorMan calling for Knot Working. Let’s go to 68.” “Copy that.”
For the uninitiated, VHF channel 16 is the “hailing” or “working” channel. It’s monitored by all boats, including the Coast Guard and law enforcement. Once contact is made, however, you switch to a less busy channel for your conversation.
The people on Knot Working invited me over for drinks, seeing as I was a new arrival. After a long, harrowing day at sea, it’s just what I needed. I dropped the dinghy and took some supplies over to their boat.
A young man in his 20s grabbed my painter and helped me aboard. There were three souls aboard: an older man, probably 50; the 20-year-old guy and a smoking hot twat, also in her 20s. I tried to figure out if it was dad and two kids or dad and one kid with a girlfriend, or …. Lots of possibilities.
We made introductions. It turns out that Clive, the “dad” was, in fact, uncle to the boy, Steve. The hottie was Christie, Steve’s squeeze. They were spending a year aboard, cruising around Florida.
We sat on their aft-deck enjoying our beverages and the calm after the storm. Christie seemed to take an interest in me. Her attention was focused on me, hanging on every word. It was affirming to have a hot girl pay so much attention to me, yet awkward at the same time. Steve would say something to her and she would completely ignore him, keeping her rapt attention aimed at me.
Christie was a real looker. A beautiful face, and a rockin’ body. Her blonde hair was cut short for easy maintenance on the boat. Her face was a classic oval with pretty, almond shaped eyes. She had on the tiniest bikini known to man. The top barely covered even her nipples; the rest of her rack in plain view. The bottom matched: just enough fabric to cover her snatch to keep her from getting arrested.
After we had exchanged pleasantries and talk of the storm, Christie said “I need to freshen my drink. Sailor, could you come help?” Somewhat surprised at her invitation, I looked at both Clive and Steve. They both nodded approval.
Once inside the main salon, she grabbed my hand and led me down to the starboard hull or pontoon, containing the bedrooms. As soon as we got into the forward stateroom, she turned to look at me. “You’re gonna love this. Drop your drawers, Sailor, and hang on.”
“But, Christie, the others are topside. We shouldn’t be alone here like this.” “Nonsense, Sailor. They’re the only two dicks I’ve had in months. I need some fresh meat. Now you either get your cock out or I’m going in after it!”
There was no foreplay, no kissing, no titty grab. She was a woman on a mission, intent on only one thing: sucking my dick.
With my bottoms on the floor, she dropped to her knees. Even though she was a ravishing beauty, my friend was hanging down limp. It didn’t take her long to get him aroused, standing at attention, ready for duty.
She gave me an exhilarating blowjob. She was skilled and, apparently, out to show me just how skilled she was. After a long day battling a ferocious storm and a few slugs of rum, I was weak. She pulled out all the stops, allowing me to do as I pleased in her mouth. I didn’t last long. I blasted my cumload in her mouth. It was almost a ferocious orgasm, overtaking all my senses. My knees got weak, my vision blurred, out of breath. I staggered and fell on the bed, delirious.
“I told you you’d like it. Was I right, or what?” I could just moan in agreement. “If you hang around for a day or two, I’ll entertain you with my other talents” she said with certainty. “I’m kind of bored with the same two cocks day in and day out. You’re just what I need. Please stick around for Act 2.”
اسم الموضوع : Ch. 70: Christie Has Needs
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المصدر : Sex Stories
