Navigation

"You have the helm," I say.

"Oh... ok, I have the helm," she answers, stepping into my place and taking the wheel in both hands.

"Give us a bit more throttle and then take us out through the breakwater. Try to keep to the starboard side of the channel."

"What's our depth under keel?" she asks, and I smile at the way she's soaking up the art of helming a boat.

"Plenty, tide's coming in so we're in no danger of touching anywhere. I'll yell if we're somewhere we shouldn't be. Relax and enjoy, skipper!" She laughs, and I climb onto the transom behind her so that I can keep an eye on where we are. And, by virtue of my position, on her.

Em is dressed in short white linen pants and a turquoise sleeveless vest. The straps of her olive-green bikini top are fastened in a scrappy bow behind the nape her neck. She's wearing deck shoes (without socks) and a pair of fashion sunglasses are spread over the brim of the tatty cap she's pulled onto her head. The end of her ponytail flutters like a pennant in the breeze. I can clearly see the freckles from numerous childhood sunburns that speckle her shoulders.

She's in her element, and it's a delight for me to be able to watch her like this.

"Bring us a bit further over to the centre of the channel as we pass the Lifeboat training dock," I say. She nods and eases the wheel a few degrees to port. She advances the throttle a shade and we pick up some speed. I eye the log; we're making four and a half knots, which is ample for the marina channel and entrance.

"We'll kill the donkey and bring up the sails once we're beyond the channel entrance," I say. Emma nods again, distracted. She's keeping a beady eye on the various channel markers, and I have time to relax. I watch the banks slip past and wave to the RNLI training centre crew, as well as a few Royal Navy Reserve yachts which are coming into Lymington after early morning race training sessions.

As we nose out into the Solent proper, I take a good look at the conditions. All seems fine, so after a quick look around to ensure we're clear of traffic I nod to Em. "Bring us into the wind, and get ready to throttle back!"

"Yes ma'am!" she says, saluting. I stick my tongue out at her and am rewarded by another laugh. Then I get to work unfurling the mainsail and genoa, keeping both partially reefed since it's just Em and I on Indigo and I'd rather have too little sail than too much.

"She's all yours, bear off to a broad reach and let's head for Cowes!" I say, having to raise my voice over the flapping of the sails. Em obliges, spinning the helm to starboard. As we pass out of the eye of the wind, the sails fill. I ease the genoa, then ease the main, and soon we are reaching downwind in the direction of the Isle of Wight. Emma puts the engine into neutral and kills the ignition, and sailing in its purest form descends on us: sun, sails, a good boat, and a wind to move her.

Em is grinning toothily at me, and the grin proves infectious. I stand next to her by the wheel and just amuse myself for a moment, watching her.

"What?" she asks, after a while.

"You were born for this," I say. "You were born to be on the water."

"We're waterbabies, you and I."

"I'm glad you're here," I tell her.

She reaches out to wrap her left arm around me, pulling my hip against hers. "So am I, Bella. So am I."

--

Once I'm confident we're past the five metre depth contour I drop down into the cabin and start breakfast. It's simple; cheese, parma ham and tomato slices on whole wheat bagels, and coffee to keep us lubricated. I adjust naturally to the pitching and rolling as Indigo slips downwind, hardly noticing the occasional larger swell. I carry the tray of bagels up and put it on the leeward cockpit seat, then clamber back down and re-emerge with two cups of coffee. I hand Emma hers and she accepts it happily, steering with one hand and holding her cup with the other.

I eat my bagel while keeping a weather eye out, but the Solent is pretty empty where we are. I can see plenty of yachts further to the east near Cowes, which makes sense given its prominence in British maritime tradition. More sails are visible to the southwest near Hurst castle and onwards towards the Needles. But for now, we're alone in our own wide space of water. Radio traffic also seems to be limited, bar the occasional idiot irritating the Solent Coastguard with requests for radio checks.

I lean back and watch the sails, then lean further back and just watch Em as she steers us with confidence. I watch the way her arms move, the way her muscles tense and relax as she adjusts to the roll of the boat. I watch the way her vest slips slightly to the side. I watch the horizon in her sunglass lenses. I watch the small smile as it forms.

"You're watching me again," she says levelly.

"Sorry, force of habit. I like seeing you happy."

"Make yourself useful and tell me what you've been up to. I haven't heard any scandals for at least a month."

I smile wryly. "My life is empty of scandal, Em. I have no social life."

"I'm appalled," she says, deadpan.

"Shush, you," I mutter. "Not all of us are able to render our desired gender senseless with a gesture."

"Oh crap, Isabel," Emma says. "You're a gorgeous woman. You just haven't learned how to hunt yet."

"I'm beginning to think my prey is extinct."

"Oh, really?" Emma asks, cocking her head at me.

"I think all the girls are taken," I say, sadly.

"They're out there," she answers. "You're just not looking hard enough."

--

It takes us several hours to make our way from Lymington to Cowes (a distance of some ten or so nautical miles) mainly due to the action of the tide against us from mid-morning onwards. We pass the entrance to the River Medina, and proceed around the headland to Osborne bay, where we drop anchor for lunch. The wind has freshened slightly, and wispy cirrus clouds are starting to waft across the sky from the west.

"That the bad weather you mentioned?" Emma asks.

"Yeah, a low pressure cell. Looks like it's coming through quicker than forecast," I answer. "Can you make lunch, Em? I'll see about getting us a berth at East Cowes."

I duck down below and contact the marina, quickly negotiating a berth for us for the night, close in to the river bank where the chop and wind will be slightly less severe. Meanwhile, Emma bustles around the saloon, whipping up a salad and getting some hummus, bread and cheese for us to nibble on.

"All sorted?" she asks, as I replace the VHF handset.

"Yep, East Cowes for the night, they're pretty full but they have space for us. They'll be more sheltered than other options around here. Last thing we need is to be kept awake by chop and wash."

"Agreed. Food's ready," she announces.

"Awesome. Let's carry it out onto the deck."

We set up in the cockpit, sitting on either side of the companionway and leaning against the forward cockpit bulkhead. Em hands me my plate and I place it to one side as I pour us both a glass of wine.

"Bit early to be starting, isn't it?" Em asks with a grin.

"Nonsense. We're sailors, and sailors drink. Well known fact," I respond.

"They drink rum, not cabernet franc."

"Shall I pour yours over the side, then?"

"I didn't say that," Em laughs. "Give it here." She takes her glass, careful not to spill any drops on the teak decking, and raises it to me. "Here's to being in the great outdoors, with you."

"Cheers," I echo, taking a sip of the wine before putting my glass aside so that I can take a bite of cheese. "Thanks for organising the lunch, Em."

"Consider it a partial repayment of my debts," she answers.

"What debts?"

"Allowing me to come with you this weekend, looking after me, telling Alan to go fuck himself... the list goes on."

I laugh. "I did find that last one very satisfying, I must confess."

"I wouldn't have had the strength," she says. Then she sighs. "I'm just so tired of the bullshit that comes with relationships, Bella."

"Take it from me, I think the bullshit probably trumps the loneliness of being single," I answer.

"At least you don't have to deal with the constant stress of dealing with someone else's attitude and issues," she mutters.

"I'd trade that for waking up in an empty bed any day of the week."

We sit in a brief patch of silence and I eat some salad, listening to the waves lapping against the hull.

"I guess I haven't been single long enough in the last couple of years to remember what it feels like," she says apologetically.

"It sucks, but I guess it's my base state," I offer. "I can't remember ever actually being in anything long-term."

"And sex?" she asks, curious.

"Um... non-existent. I might as well be a nun," I answer, shifting uncomfortably.

"Ugh," she sympathises. "I can't even imagine that. It'd be like not eating."

"Slut," I mutter with a grin.

"Oi. Not my fault I like physical contact."

"You and me, both," I sigh. "You're just far better at getting it."

"Guys are easy," she agrees.

"I tried being direct. It doesn't work that well," I say, with a wry laugh. "Lots of women take offense."

"Who'd be offended by a hottie like you asking them out?" she asks, amused.

"More of them than you'd think, clearly," I reply. "Sometimes it's easier just to watch."

"So what is it that gets you looking?" she asks, leaning back against the bulkhead.

"Honestly? Nice legs, a slender build, and dark hair. A pretty face doesn't hurt either. But mainly I notice the legs."

Em crosses her own long, delicious legs and I again force my attention to the shoreline, the horizon, the water... quite literally anything but her. Her linen pants are riding up her thighs, showing the definition of her flanks and making things a little warm for me. I bounce my foot in frustration and sip my wine again.

Em puts her plate and glass aside and stretches her arms upwards behind her back. I watch out the corner of my eyes as her breasts strain against the fabric of her vest. I could swear that she has nipplestand, but that could just be my imagination playing tricks on me.

A short-lived gust of wind breaks my reverie as it swings Indigo around her anchor chain, and I sit up straighter. Cirrus and cirrostratus clouds are now crowding in from the west, and it's clear that the weather is changing. I stand and climb onto the port cockpit seat for a better view of the approaching change, then duck downstairs quickly to check the barometer, which has dropped noticeably in the last two hours.

"We should probably get moving soon," I say as I clamber back out onto the deck. Em stands as well, taking up position next to me. She rests a hand on my shoulder to steady herself, and I find myself distracted by the feel of her hip against mine.

"How long do we have?" she asks, curious.

I shrug. "A couple of hours I think. It's going to take us an hour or so at least to get back around the point with the wind in this direction. Unless we just use the engine and take the lazy way out."

"I, for one, vote for the donkey," she says. "Sailing would be fun but I'd rather we were safely moored before things get ridiculous out here."

"You read my mind."

--

Indigo's engine rumbles to life, and I let her idle while Em and I ensure the sails are furled and that all the lines are clear of the cockpit and winches. Em then clambers up to the bow and opens the anchor locker to retrieve the windlass control. She looks back to me and gives me a thumbs up, indicating that she's good to go. I advance the throttle a shade, and Indigo slowly starts to nose forward into the wind. I hear Em winding the anchor chain in, and soon she's guiding the anchor onto the bow rollers. "Anchor clear!" she yells back to me, and I give us more power as we start our trip back to Cowes.

Em bends forward to stow the windlass control in the anchor locker, and I can't help but enjoy the view she gives me of her pants pulled tight over her bum. Then she's standing and working her way back down the starboard side of Indigo to the cockpit, and I shift slightly so she can come stand next to me again.

We force our way upwind through slowly building whitecaps; a glance at the wind speed indicator shows that the wind is now holding steady well over eighteen knots. In the distance I can see the first scudding mid-level clouds which herald the approaching warm front and associated storm. Em stays by my side, safely in the middle of the cockpit, reaching out occasionally to steady herself on my shoulder as we nose through the swell.

Slowly we round the headland near Norris Castle, and as we do so the waves build noticeably. We hug the shore and the new small boat channel, turning southwest to duck into the relatively sheltered entrance to the River Medina. I ease the throttle so that we don't exceed the marina speed limit, and Em starts setting the fenders and mooring lines on Indigo's starboard side.

I nose us into our berth, then put us gently astern while Em steps down and locks off the bow mooring line. Then I put Indigo back into idle and Em and I work fast to secure her to the jetty, rigging extra lines because of the incoming weather. Once I'm happy Indigo's not going anywhere I kill the engine. I quickly hook us up to shore power, then clamber back on board where I stand looking out to the rapidly darkening west.

The wind is now clearly audible, whistling through the rigging of other moored yachts alongside us. The temperature has dropped and the sky is now wholly covered with high level cloud. Em has goosebumps and I am also feeling a bit chilly.

"It's going to be a big one," I mutter.

"Good reason to get drunk," she responds with a smile.

"Wine in the cabin or wine in the pub?' I ask her.

"Wine in the cabin first, then in the pub?" she counters.

"Suits me," I answer. I grab and furl the ensign and we head downstairs. Em pours the poison while I stow the ensign and check that Indigo is charging properly. She holds out my glass and I take a grateful sip, then she and I take up our stations in our accustomed lurking spot on the saloon bench.

I can feel Indigo shifting and rocking slightly as gusts hit us. "I hope you're going to be able to sleep tonight," I mutter, sourly.

Em snorts, shaking her head. "I'm tired enough to sleep through a thunderstorm," she answers. "Chalk it up to being utterly emotionally drained."

"So today didn't help you recharge at all?" I ask, saddened.

"Oh, Bella. Of course it did. But... you know how it is."

"Yeah, I guess I do," I reply. "You feeling ok?"

"A bit brittle, but glad I'm with you and not at home, eating ice cream and chocolate and wallowing..."

I laugh. "That's a cute image. But yes, pub food and drunkenness tops ice cream wallowing any day in my book."

"Cheers to that," she answers, clinking my glass. I smile at her, enjoying the quiet camaraderie of the moment. Em lifts her legs and rests them across my lap, leaning back into the corner. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not," I answer. "You know that I'm your slave."

"Slave, huh?" she replies, eyes twinkling. "Don't offer what you're not prepared to give, you'll get into trouble."

"Don't escalate what you're guaranteed to lose," I return with a snort. Em laughs. I lean into the corner, enjoying the weight of her calves on my thighs.

"So..." she says, whimsically.

"So?" I respond.

"Tell me something that's a secret," she says.

I raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on," she wheedles. "We're going to be stuck in here for at least an hour or two before it's late enough to go to dinner, and I'm bored and frustrated."

"Frustrated, how?" I ask.

"Deeply, if you know what I mean," she answers with a pout.

"Um... that's classifiable as overshare," I answer, stalling for time.

"Oh come on, Isabel. Don't get all puritan on me. Tell me a secret. Amuse me," she says with an imperious wave of her hand.

"Ok then," I answer, amused. "Naughty or nice?"

"Naughty."

"I wear boy's briefs from Marks and Spencers, mainly because a girl I slept with did and they looked so comfortable that I had to try it myself."

"Really?" she answers, intrigued. "Do I know her?"

"Nope, she was a one-night stand in second year."

"Pity," Em answers. "You should have got your hooks into her. Ok, your turn."

"My turn?"

"To ask something, silly."

"Oh... um, ok. How old were you when you first kissed someone?"

Em leans back, grinning like a tiger. "Fifteen."

"Fifteen?" I ask, amused. I sip my wine.

"Yeah. Her lips tasted awesome," Em responds.

"Her lips?" To say I'm surprised would be an understatement.

"You've had your chance. My turn now," Em counters.

I eye her, twirling my glass slightly as I wait for her question. Try as I might, I can't visualise Emma kissing a girl. I mean... I can, obviously, but it seems to run counter to everything I thought I knew about her. I shift, slightly, trying to ignore her proximity.

"What's the most daring thing you've ever done?" she asks.

I pretend to think, but the answer is, shamefully, an obvious one. "I went to lectures without underwear, in a short skirt."

"Bella!" she laughs. "You're an exhibitionist! I never knew."

"There's a lot of me you don't know," I answer, smirking. Em shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

"My turn again?" I ask. She nods.

I think. "What's the raunchiest thing you've ever done?"

Em purses her lips. "There're a lot of candidates there. Lets say, for argument's sake, that it's wearing a corset, cat mask and little else to a masked ball."

"That's not very raunchy at all," I protest. "That hardly classifies. The scale doesn't even move!"

"I'm not drunk enough to tell you the depraved stuff," she answers, sipping her wine and looking smug.

"Is there a lot of that?" I ask, curious.

"A fair amount," she says in a matter of fact way. "I lead a double life as an adult film actress, after all."

"Yeah, right," I snort, shaking my head.

"When did you sleep with your first girl?"

I sigh. "First year university. I was drunk and she was available."

"Regrets?" she asks.

"No, it was what I needed at the time, Em."

She leans back, and once again I am confronted by the distracting swell of her breasts under her vest. I almost miss her question.

"Describe it," she says.

"Sorry?"

"Tell me about sex with your first girl," she says.

"Um... Why?"

The boat rocks in a gust, and Emma grins. "Because. Because I'm bored, newly single, horny, and curious about what it was like for you. Also," she says with a nod of her head towards the companionway, "we're trapped below decks till the storm clears."

"It's not even raining yet," I protest.

"Bella, you're killing my mood," she chides.

"Oh good grief, ok, you win," I mutter. I put down my wineglass and sit up straighter. "You're a perve."

She doesn't bother to deny it, opting instead to settle back with an amused grin and wait.

I think back, remembering. "My memory is fuzzy, but I'll tell you what I remember. She was dressed in faded jeans and a tight white tee-shirt. I was getting a drink and she came up and leaned against me. Told me I was sexy and that I had pretty eyes."

"Right on both counts," Em interjects.

"Shush. Right, so, I bought her a drink and she dragged me to a table, told me her name, chatted to me a bit, dragged me onto the dance-floor... where she started to make out with me. It was nice."

"Nice, she says," Em drawls. I laugh.

"More than nice, then. I wanted her, and likewise. We went back to her room. She put on music and sat on my lap while we kissed. Then she got her top off. Her breasts were awesome. Small, pale, warm and soft to the touch. Salty from her sweat. I remember she had goosebumps. I did too when I stripped for her."

I realise that talking is turning me on. I hope my nipples are not showing.