Age Indifference: Cruising

I woke just as we started down The Hill, that steep, narrow, twisty and yes, slow descent to the Bella Coola valley. (Over its 19Km length it drops more than 12-hundred meters with grades as steep as 15%). It is great fun but I've been up and down it enough times that it no longer proves exciting. Darkness is taking hold; the sky is littered with random stars but new ones continue to flicker on and will pack the heavens as the inky blackness deepens. Once at the bottom it's still an hour to the marina and probably as much again to lug our gear from the truck to Miss Suzy.

When PopPop and I finally crawl between the sheets, the refreshing, invigorating scent of saltwater wafts into the cabin through an open porthole. We're tired but I feel his hardness grow as he spoons his body behind me. As I shift slightly and roll onto my back, his fingers caress, flick, probe and bring to flame the fire I keep kindled just for him. Music, soft now but certain to produce crashing crescendos begins in my head. Upon it I will float in moments of serenity, rage in times of driving fury, and at its climax will find release and peace in its fading last notes. PopPop is inside me and we begin our dance.

I marvel at the gentleness of this man who is never anything but intent on ensuring my happiness. There is no urgency to his love-making -- and please find there no suggestion that our couplings are plodding or in any way less than satisfying -- but I do unabashedly make demands with body and words at times of particular need. Like now, legs high, braced back by his shoulders and me teetering on the edge, I leverage my ass up and beg him to: "go faster, harder, go hard, hard, I'm . . ." and my trembling thrusts fill in the missing word. He slows, kisses me tenderly on my eyes, my nose, my mouth before again taking me to the clouds. I cum twice more before he pushes hard, his cock throbs and I feel his warm cream fill my cunt. Satiated we slip easily into a blissful sleep.

I was awakened by the gentle rumble of the tug's diesel but urged from the bed by the smell of fresh coffee and burnt toast. (God I love how he burns the toast just for me). I pull on one of his long T's, inhaling his odor from the fabric, and pat bare-footed to the galley. After a quick kiss on his grizzled cheek, a: "Pour me a cup" and a: "you need to shave old man," I back-track to the head to pee. I'll have a shower after some black coffee and burnt toast and while PopPop checks out everything in the wheelhouse.

I'd never been on a boat of any kind before PopPop finally got Miss Suzy rigged out (back when I was still just his granddaughter) so maybe this experience isn't unique, but leaning against the bulkhead in the shower stall when that big diesel's thrumming is like getting an all-body vibrator massage. Standing here with the hot spray stinging my nipples, I lean back so the vibration adds some quiver to my fingers. I start to rub one out and send my mind to where magically it's not my hand but his that brings me to another Big O. Toweling off I still feel the vibration, and my thoughts jump hours ahead.

It's a crisp beautiful morning and for a while we push against the rolling chop of a flood tide, but that's okay. We'll gain the benefit of having it on our stern, pushing us, when it begins to ebb. We'll overnight in Lizzie Cove then hit Shearwater tomorrow for fuel before taking a leisurely few days to follow the coast south to Vancouver. Our end destination is a small shipyard where the old girl will, as she does every couple years, spend the winter on dry land to have her bottom scraped, new anti-foul paint applied, and a complete mechanical inspection. (Honestly I know shit about this stuff but PopPop talks so lovingly about it, it must be important).

With no dock space left at the Cove we anchored in open water, warmed up pizza for supper then took the dinghy in for a wee visit. The chill got to us after a couple hours so it was back to the cozy warmth of the heated tug to spend a pleasurable night. After numerous failed attempts and an "oh god it was painful" first time, I have gotten better at taking PopPop's thick cock in my ass. (Lots of lube and equal amounts of patience and persistence seems to be the answer). And even though his goal is to fill my bum with cum, I achieve some of my wildest, wettest vaginal orgasms while he's drilling in the back door. We usually put down a towel to capture some of my eruptions -- PopPop does things that almost always make me squirt -- but doing anal requires a 2-towel layer if we want to avoid soaked or crusty sheets. As usual (but really, who the hell keeps score?) I win the cum game 3-1 and happily add another pair of towels to the laundry hamper.

* * * * *

After almost five full days on the water we're closing in on Miss Suzy's restorative spa. Standing on the foredeck watching a pod of Dolphins cavorting off the starboard bow, my cell phone erupts with a stuttering vibration. 'Unknown number' shows on the screen but since I haven't played 'fun with a telemarketer' in a while I answer with a cheery "Hello."

"Hey bitch, who ya doin?" It was, of course, Sara.

She'd just landed back from LA and called from a pay phone after discovering her cell had died. Keeping it short I told her where we'd be staying and agreed to meet there once we got Miss Suzy taken care. I held up the phone, waved to PopPop in the wheelhouse and mouthed her name. He was grinning broadly when he waved back.

Meeting for supper, Sara said she was good for a one-nighter only since she was Nashville bound in the morning.

"Barely got into my room and my phone on the charger when Tony called." (Tony's her booking manager and occasional (rare, she claims) fuck toy.)) "Got the only thing available; a 'tour the USA' flight that'll take a day to get there, but the studio pricks wouldn't cough up the cost of a charter."

Okay, still good, cause even a short time with Sara creates long memories.

Fortunately, Sara's 'morning' flight is actually an almost-noon departure so we have plenty of play time available. She's supplied us with some more candy from her little tin container (how she gets this shit through customs, both ways apparently, is beyond me) and this stuff is smooth and sweet.

Sara led off the evening with a prostate massage and blow job for PopPop. Her efforts produced a quick (for him) eruption that actually gagged the girl. "Holy fuck, Pops! You got a secret reservoir where you store that stuff or what? Goddamn! That was enough to choke the proverbial horse."

"Your fault, Sara. Rubbin' the nub built up the volume, but glad you enjoyed it. And, uh, you can take your finger out of my ass now, please and thank you."

I had wanted to sit on his face to get off myself while Sara did her thing, but his focus was obviously very much elsewhere. Still, wanting to be in the game, I dove in to lick and love Sara's honey hole; my efforts awarded with a warm gusher just before her spastic choking reflex broke our connection.

Couplings of all kinds produced joyful outcomes for the three of us until the first hint of dawn's early light (the night had indeed been nuclear!) sent us each into untroubled sleep. Both Sara and I took it up the ass; my climax enhanced by a thoughtful and thoroughly wonderful bush munch. I rimmed her asshole while she played cowgirl; PopPop ate me while I ate Sara, and as I swallowed one of his huge loads. He was our king and we his princesses and we made love with wild abandon, each seeking to give our partners that 'rapturous joy' that highlight our times together

Taking Sara to the airport was time used to talk about the future: When would she return; where to meet next; an extended cruise on Miss Suzy come spring? The future holds so much promise and plans are easy to make, but fate so very often intervenes. Fate is the hand that undoes plans, often in the most crushingly brutal way. But if you'll excuse me, I need just a little time to compose myself before I talk about fate's cruelty. As always…

Be Kind. Be Calm. Be Safe.

Love,

Holly.