Bareboaters Ch. 03

Chapter Three: The Nightwatch

A Jim and Mary Story

Isobel relives a strange encounter with Jim and Isobel and wonders what the future holds.

As the sun came up over Union Island its rays passed right over the white sailboat that lay at anchor in Chatham Bay, shaded from the sunrise by the surrounding hills. Further out to sea the morning sun brightened the gentle waves to an azure brilliance and illuminated the banks of clouds on the horizon until they were a dazzling white. But the boat lay quietly in the still, cool, early morning waters of the bay.

If you climbed quietly aboard the boat on to the dew wet deck nobody would greet you. You could listen for signs of life but all you would hear would be the gentle slap of water against the hull, the occasional clink of a halyard against the mast and the creak of the anchor cable where it turned over the bow roller and disappeared into the depths. An inspection of the deck would show the sails neatly furled and the rigging secured, lines neatly coiled and hanked off. The cockpit however did not show the same signs of care and attention. An empty bottle lay in the scuppers and dirty glasses were scattered here and there. A pair of shorts, a blue swimsuit and a tee shirt lay in damp disarray among displaced seat cushions.

If you peered inside the boat, through the hatchway into the cool gloom of the cabin, the appearance of disorder persisted. A makeshift bed of cushions laid out over the settees and table was occupied by three naked bodies, two women and a man. The smaller woman was stirring, reaching out a hand and touching the flank of the other woman next to her, and then, as if surprised, sitting up. She rubbed her eyes and surveyed the two bodies for a long time. Her short hair was disheveled and spiky and she scratched her scalp while she looked at them. After a while she reached for her groin and tentatively ran her fingers through the black patch of hair. The curly mass was uncomfortably stiff and matted, and she wiped her fingers on a cushion with a degree of distaste.

Isobel scrambled off the makeshift platform, found a crumpled shirt on the floor and put it on. She heated some water for coffee and went to the head to clean up.

"Now, let's see what you look like."

She examined her lip in the mirror, and was satisfied to see that, although still swollen, the cut had scabbed over nicely. She wasn't too pleased with the rest of her appearance though; hair a mess, stiff with salt from the sea, bags under her eyes, and a patch of peeling skin on her nose. In fact her skin had a coarse feel to it from too much sun, salt water exposure, and a couple of frankly bruising days on the boat, both literally and metaphorically.

"Pretty fucking awful!"

Drink was part of it, and she had made a fool of herself by falling down the companionway steps two nights ago. But the last couple of days had been emotionally draining as well. There had been sex, true; and she had wanted that, but she couldn't say it had been exactly the way she wanted it. Despite the intimacies of the last thirty six hours she didn't know if Jim and Mary were just screwing with her, or whether they wanted to make some deeper connection with her.

She took her coffee up on deck and sat among the debris in the cockpit. She cupped her hands around the mug, and inhaled the steam from the brew. It began to work its restorative magic on her as she sipped, clearing her head of the fuzzy ache of a hangover and sharpening her grasp of the world around her. The bay really was beautiful, cool and still at this hour of the morning, with barely a ripple disturbing the surface. There was a sharpness to the air which the morning's heat would soon dissipate. The occasional clatter of birds arranging themselves in the trees on the distant shore carried clearly across the water. She thought the beauty and order of nature contrasted sharply with the mess on the boat, with the untidy litter of an evening of debauchery and the even more untidy confusion of emotions that had accompanied it.

She had wanted to make love with Jim and Mary, desperately wanted a release from the tensions that had begun to swirl through the boat like fog. Henry had been supposed to come on this trip with her, but when he had cried off she had felt obliged to keep her commitment to the other couple. She had thought it might be awkward, the three of them on the boat, and she was acutely aware of the maxim that two's company, three's a crowd. Jim and Mary were physically affectionate with each other and although they had been as discreet as it's possible to be on a small boat, there really was no privacy. Privacy on a boat consisted only of deliberately not looking or listening. Isobel hadn't looked, or at least hadn't stared, when the other two had cuddled in the cockpit. But at night she had listened. She supposed they had tried not to make too much noise, but in the confined space they couldn't keep it to themselves, and she had become accustomed to hearing the rhythm of their love making, the rising intensity of the sounds, the grunting, and finally the stifled gasps of orgasm. These were always accompanied by banging noises and slapping sounds, which she assumed were caused by Mary's flailing arms, though it was hard to know. Every night Isobel lay in her bunk and matched them orgasm for orgasm, skillfully bringing herself to a peak with her fingers, and often climaxed at exactly the same time as Mary in a sort of bifurcated sisterhood.

A few nights ago (before the Tyrrell Bay episode) her desperation had led to a strange experience. She had fallen asleep on the bunk in the main cabin, instead of in her usual den in the v-berth at the bow of the boat. She had been the worse for drink and had dozed off while Jim and Mary where playing cards at the cabin table. She was woken some time later by a sound that penetrated her stupor, the sharp cry of a sea bird perhaps, but very close. The sudden start of awakening had set her heart racing and she had sat up quickly, making her head pound. Before she could even consciously wonder what the sound was it came again and she realized it was not an animal sound, but a human one. The cabin was not quite dark, but was lit by squares of moon glow that slanted in through the side windows. The door of the empty rear cabin was open, as was the companionway hatch. The sound came again, and it came from overhead, through an open hatch. She sat and listened. It was Mary's cry and it had the characteristic resonance of her arousal, the rhythm of each caught breath launching a sound deep in Mary's throat. Isobel was surprised that such a sound could be so languid and so urgent at the same time. It contrasted with the sound she knew that she herself made while in the throes of passion. Henry had once made a home movie of them making love in his apartment and she had been stunned to realize that her own cries of arousal consisted almost entirely of a string of expletives.

As she sat in the gloom of the cabin Isobel listened to the now familiar sound of Mary's mounting pleasure, a sound that had tormented her for every night of the sailing holiday. It was not that she was just jealous of Mary's pleasure; it had more to do with a sense of loss for herself, of missed opportunity, of the fact that even with her steady relationship with Henry something was missing in her life. The physical need was not the whole story of her envy; she missed that connection with another person that Mary's nightly satisfaction seemed to represent. She had no idea whether Jim was a good lover or not, but the constancy of his affection for Mary, represented for Isobel by the nightly fuck, was something she knew she had never experienced from anybody. For all she knew, Jim and Mary might not be able to stand each other in their daily lives and were just making the best of it while on vacation. Maybe they were even using the nightly love session to try and rekindle something they had lost. But, whatever the all too predictable nightly screw meant to Jim and Mary, to Isobel it was a reminder of what she didn't have.

Mary continued to give voice, now a little louder, either forgetting that another set of ears was present on the boat, or no longer caring. Isobel felt a tightening in her lower abdomen, not excitement so much as a tension that left unattended would grow into a consuming and grating ache. She slipped her fingers down into her bush of hair and hooked her index finger into the opening of her vagina. It was moist and sticky, not yet flooding with the sap of arousal, but the pressure of her finger felt reassuring and calming.

She felt the need to be closer to the sounds, not just through some voyeuristic instinct but through a feeling that by getting closer to her surrogate she could steal, or at least borrow, some of the intimacy Mary was experiencing. She crept through the dim cabin, hardly daring to breath and stopped in the small space at the foot of the forward berth. She looked up to the open hatch and its empty square of moonlight and listened. At first she heard nothing but the sounds of the water and the musical night sounds of the boat. Then she picked out a moan or a groan, she couldn't tell which, and then the sound of Mary's voice, quiet but urgent.

"Ohh, yes. Like that. Ohh, that's beautiful."

More silence.

"Ooh, yes. Keep doing it."

"Ohhh."

After a while.

"Mmm. That feels good."

Then no more sounds for a minute, then a moan.

Isobel fingered herself, and wished she could see. This was so unsatisfactory. She was so close to them, almost within touching distance. She felt if she could actually see them she would know what she should be feeling, using the picture to channel what Mary was feeling into the liberation of her own tensions. But to feel it she needed to actually see them. Dare she risk a peek through the hatch? Listening to them in their cabin because she couldn't help it was one thing, but spying on them was quite another. Perhaps if she moved very slowly and quietly they would not know she was there. If there was a danger of being seen she could quietly withdraw with no-one being any the wiser.

Her scruples about appropriate behavior didn't last long. Carefully she put her knees up on the bunk and, bracing her arms, climbed slowly to her feet. Holding her breath she moved her head ever so slowly into the hatch opening. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest as she gauged the risk of being seen. For a while she could move no further, paralyzed with the fear of discovery. But nothing happened, so she moved her head upwards until she could see over the rim of the hatch. She was relieved to see the crown of Mary's head just forward of the hatch, level with her eyes. Mary was lying on her back. Jim was kneeling between her knees and his head was buried beyond the turn of Mary's belly. She could hear Jim's gasping breaths as he rooted between Mary's thighs and Isobel could see Mary's breasts heaving on her ribcage.

She ducked down below the sill again and sat on the edge of the berth, breathless with excitement. Her fingers teased and caressed her pussy and she began to feel the warm stirrings of her lubricating womb. She could just hear Mary breathing and moaning above the sound of her own rasping breath. She lay back on the bunk, her legs bent at the knees and widely spread. Her finger slid smoothly in the gathering moisture of her opening and she moved the slick wetness on to her clitoris with her finger tip. Pleasure began to suffuse her as she rubbed herself lightly and listened to the sounds from overhead.

After a while she heard a scrabbling on the deck and some grunts. Should she have just one more look? Why not? Nothing happened last time. She stood up again, this time aware of the growing wetness between her legs.

She poked her head through the hatch.

"Oh, shit!"

She was looking straight into Jim's eyes. He was braced on his arms above Mary, who was still lying in the same spot. His head bobbed backwards and forwards inches from Isobel's face and she could feel his warm breath.

"Fuck!" breathed Jim, looking stunned.

He stopped moving.

"What?" said Mary.

"Nothing."

"Don't stop! I'm getting there."

He started again.

"I want you," hissed Jim, and he stared into Isobel's eyes.

"Shhhh," said Mary "She'll hear."

"I don't care."

"Come on, come on! Now, now!"

Isobel watched Jim respond to Mary's urging. His head bobbed faster and she could see along his flanks to the rise and fall of his buttocks. His breath came faster and its gusts caressed Isobel's face in recurring waves.

"Come on, Jimmy, I'm coming!" Mary's body started to shake and noises caught in her throat.

It was too much for Isobel. She dropped back through the hatch, her own orgasm not far off. She could hardly breathe and her thighs trembled and she was close to coming. Above her head there were more groans and she could hear Mary thrashing on the deck. Isobel decided on one last look. Jim already knew she was there and so she felt she had nothing to lose, even if he saw her again. One last look and she could finish herself off. She hoisted herself on her trembling legs and raised her head like a periscope. She could see his head again. But.....

"Oh, my God!"

It wasn't Jim. This time it was Mary on her hands and knees staring at her. Mary's face was contorted into a grimace that looked like pain, but Isobel knew wasn't pain at all. She couldn't see Jim but could hear the dull slap of his thighs as he ploughed Mary from behind. Mary's body shook from the transmitted shocks. Her breasts swung rhythmically beneath her and whimpering groans escaped from behind her gritted teeth. Mary's hands closed over Isobel's where she had caught hold of the hatch coaming to pull herself up. Her clasp was fierce and her grip transmitted the power of her continuing orgasms to Isobel.

"Oh, Fuck! Oh, Shit!" muttered Isobel, her own orgasm close, but the physical tension of suspending herself in the hatch prevented her from reaching it. And the clutch of Mary's fingers stopped her from using her own fingers to bring herself off.

She heard Jim's voice from the dark behind Mary.

"I'm coming. Oh, I'm coming."

The rhythmic thudding together of Jim and Mary's bodies stopped, to be superseded by a few forceful heaves from Jim as he filled Mary. Mary's head had slumped between her arms, but she raised it up one last time, stared at Isobel and then sagged to the deck again loosing her grip on Isobel's hands. Isobel was released to fall back into the dark of the v-berth, where she rolled herself into a ball and squeezed her hands between her thighs. Her fingers slid into the wet crevice of her sex and laid siege to her clitoris. It didn't take long. Deep down Isobel felt the contractions in her own belly and the flood of her own orgasm.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Over and over again she said it until at last the orgasm released its grip on her.

As she sat in the cockpit nursing her cup of coffee Isobel thought back to that night and what she found so disturbing about it. The next day neither Jim nor Mary gave any sign that they had seen her nor that she had been a participant in their lovemaking, whether they liked it or not. She didn't even know if they had talked about it between themselves. In fact, she didn't know if either of them knew that the other had seen her. It had been a shared erotic moment that had then been disowned, leaving her none the wiser about the nature of their relationship. Did Jim really want her, as he had said in the middle of riding his wife, or was that remark meant for Mary? And then there was the bizarre piece of exhibitionism on Mary's part in Tyrrell Bay which led to a sort of orgy, but which for Isobel was ultimately unsatisfying, because Mary wouldn't let Jim screw her. And yesterday there was the awful atmosphere on the boat as if some dark secret was hidden in the bilges. Then there was Mary's sudden change of tune. It was certainly a surprise to Jim when Mary encouraged him to screw Isobel after he climbed back on the boat. And lastly when the act did take place it was so crude that she felt that Mary was using Jim's cock to rape her.

Last night they had all ended up sleeping together below decks. At that point there didn't seem to be any point in not sharing a bed, uncomfortable as it was, but Isobel's wish that there be some definition of the relationship between the three of them hadn't taken place. And anyway, she didn't know what she wanted herself. There were now three more days left in the vacation, and to Isobel one big question to be answered.

"Do they really want me in their lives, or am I just a toy to spice up their frigging vacation?"