Androshorts: That Bloody Woman!

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"Fine..." mumbled five scared young reps not making eye contact with anyone.

"Warm isn't it," said Stuart, "Good heavens!" he said seeing the looks he wasn't getting, "what on earth is that smell?" He looked around him at his own staff.

"It's us," said Megan raising an arm, "these uniforms are basically airless plastic bags and we sweat to hell in them."

Debs looked daggers at the traitorous behaviour of her direct underling.

"And they scratch to buggery, look," said Dorothy pulling her shirt collar down to expose not only her pretty, lacy bra strap but also the numerous scratches that the tail of a fish and the binding behind it had inflicted in dozens of red scratches across her pale white shoulder.

"Bloody hell," said Stuart seeing the mark.

"It's just because they are new..." moaned Debs appearing suddenly.

"They are almost six weeks old and mine have been washed forty times already," said a braver Tina, "And this outboard logo isn't helping either." With that she pulled off her polo shirt to show the scratches across her shoulder and the slope of shapely left breast held in place by a black balcony bra. "We used to wear T-shirts to stop them scratching but SHE said we couldn't and threatened to send anyone home without pay if they wore one."

"The contract is very specific," said Debs, "Image in this line of work is everything..."

"I notice that you aren't wearing one?" said Dave seeing that the lighter shade of blue Polo shirt Debs was wearing was a lightweight cotton.

"This is the management colour, helps the customer to tell the difference between staff and shop floor." Debs folded her arms in stiff bottom lipped petulance, "this is the colour that the office staff will wear when the board approves my recommendation."

"Yes, well..." said Stuart, slipping a pointer finger into the sleeve of Debs' T-shirt and the one that the half-naked Tina was holding, "yeah, we'll have to see about that. Debs," said Stuart walking away, stopping to throw Tina's shirt back at her, "walk with me for a moment."

An email was circulated that afternoon ordering staff to return to the cotton Worldsail International short sleeved shirts and blouses until new, more practical corporate wear could be sourced.

Debs was fuming.

Next morning Dave had to walk across to the yard to speak with one of the shipwrights. As he walked into the workshop their was loud voice.

"Excuse me Mr Ross, where do you think you are going?" it was her again. That bloody woman.

"I was going to discuss Brian's up and coming sick leave Debs," he said.

"Well you must have read the health and safety policy Mr Ross, seeing as you wrote most of it."

"And your point is?"

"You can't enter the workshop without wearing safety shoes and fluorescent clothing." She was walking slowly towards him, her Florrie vest obvious.

Shit!

That bloody woman!

"Fair enough," he backed out of the workshop and stood by the door, "Brian, please come and see when you have five minutes, I'll give you the full SP on your operation leave and all that."

"Fanks Dave," shouted Brian across the workshop.

"During your coffee break please Mr Threadgold," shouted Debs.

Bitch.

She did have him there. Because of some rather errant cleaners they'd had previously, strict times had been written into the procedures. And that fucking woman must have spent the last three days reading every single one of them.

It got to the point that every time he stepped off of the first floor she was there telling him what he could and couldn't do. So he took them home as well, Sky movies playing to itself as he read and made notes, two can play at that game.

The fun continued.

The staff all took lunch breaks, and coffee breaks, and took their rest breaks from operating computer screens, phones went unanswered, and overtime was needed to get the boats out.

It was just one long battle and productivity fell accordingly. Something had to be done, and Stuart called both of them to his office one Friday afternoon.

"A sailing trip," he said with a smile, "Just the two of you."

"WHAT!?!" Debs and Dave shouted at the same time.

"It's the 'Montego Bay', a brand new six sleeper specially built and rigged for the Caribbean, needs to be in Jamaica in time for third weekend in August," said Stuart, "Dave, you know nothing of the work and are the only member of staff that has never sailed in all of your years here. There is no one better to teach you than Debs here." He indicated the shorter woman next to him.

"But..." said Debs stuttering her response, seeing weeks of being stuck on her own with this man she pretty much detested and having to teach him to sail.

"Sailing?" spat out Dave as if he had been asked to carry out a Herculean task, "I don't want to sail! No way!"

"Dave! You've been putting this off for years, part of you coming to work here all those years ago was that you would eventually do this!" he took a deep breath, "it is in your contract mate."

"But I can't even swim, why would I want to sail the bloody Atlantic?" said Dave looking very angry now.

"Sailing the Atlantic with a landlubber," said Debs, "It could be dangerous."

"One of things we employed you for is your knowledge and you are contracted to take this very boat to Jamaica, it's in your contract as well." The room went silent. "How about the company sponsors you," said Stuart with a grin, then a quick nod of his head, "Yeah, We'll sponsor you and Debs to sail the Atlantic, five hundred pounds per day for however long it takes. You can leave in a few weeks, sail first to the Canaries and then head for the Windward Isles, take you about a month, what could go wrong!"

So he was presented with a set of specially made sailing waterproofs, and corporate clothing, enough for his trip out and the for each time they docked for the amounts of free publicity their trip would garner. He was also presented with a large sea bag that would keep all of his possessions dry whatever happened.

After all, he figured, what's the worse that could happen; he shared the same conclusion as Samuel Johnson, going to sea was the same a being in prison with the risk of being drowned. He kissed and hugged his daughter for what seemed the hundredth time since he packed that fucking bag.

"I'll be fine Daddy!" said his teenage girl, an arm around his mother in law, both of them reminding him of his beloved Sally and just made him miss her so much more than he normally did.

He looked to his left and there she was, Debs Conroy BEM, or 'that bloody woman'. She was all over the boat, buggering around with bits of rope and generally changing all of the stuff that the ship fitters and the chandlers had done, and the unfriendly scowl on her face let him know that whatever the company's highly paid Specialists had done wasn't good enough for her.

His parents and his in-laws had all come to Plymouth to see him and 'her' off. Sally's Mum Dawn stepped on the boat and walked up to Debs and shook her hand, thanking her for her efforts in raising money for cancer research in her late daughters name. She hugged Debs and her face left Dave in no doubt that it was something that she really didn't care for, or perhaps wasn't used to.

Dave had shown his daughter around the boat and she seemed impressed. He only wished he was.

"Dave," said Debs without a sign of regret or sympathy, he even thought he detected an air of disapproval in his desire to spend a last few moments with his family, "the tide? We really do need to be on our way?"

Stuart got all of the families together and final hugs and kisses were shared and photos and video taken, and Debs was noticeably absent for that moment. Dave thought it strange that there was no one there to see off Debs.

Ropes were untied and thrown onto the boat and Debs started the motor and with a single shove on the pointed end, the boat moved out into the deeper water and with Drakes Island to their bow they headed out into The English Channel.

Dave walked to the front of the boat and pulled in the plastic fenders on the off side (he refused to say starboard) as he had seen the crews do when they sailed away from the yard. He was still wearing his Worldsail International crew clothing -- the new stuff the firm had bought with assistance from the kids that wore it every day.

Debs hardly spoke to him for the first day, and as they motored a long the channel westward waiting for the wind to pick up he guessed.

After an hour he went down into the kitchen and made two mugs of tea, having been well acquainted by the yard crew who wanted him to be able to at least feed himself if 'that bloody woman' wanted to make life difficult for him. He did actually consider himself no mean chef, having taken classes a few years back.

"Thanks," she said in a very business like fashion.

"Don't mention it," he said with the same chill to his voice.

That first night they just stayed around the cabin, one on watch the whole time as this was still one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world.

On the second day they lost sight of land and she told him that she was changing the heading and making for the Canary Island prior to the Atlantic crossing. They had only slept for the occasional hour or two, but on that night she set the sails, talking as she did so, quietly and hardly instructional, he tried to follow what was going on but it was wholly pointless, so he stayed in the well with all of the expensive equipment keeping them on course.

As they reached they sea lanes the conditions worsened and Dave started to suffer his first sea sickness. It started in the calm swells that had him throwing up over the side. Soon he had decided not to eat anything as he really didn't see the point and just said to Debs he would just throw his meals over the side and cut out the middle man. She nagged him insisting that he needed to keep his strength up and soon he would get over it.

For Dave it was just out and out misery, and while his companion obviously loved the life. He went to bed, fuming that the large bed he'd been promised was not an option and that he was sent to sleep in his own roomy cabin but in a bunk he was too big for.

He was tired, hungry, nauseous, and he ached. From bumps to the head and from trying to sleep with his legs cramping because he could not stretch out properly. It was hell.

Making his way through the boat it lurched, throwing him against a bulk head and making him hit his already sore head the seventh or eighth time that day, and he swore.

"I seriously hate the fucking ship!" he shouted thumping the timber support.

"What now!?" Debs growled, she was starting to tire of his constant moaning.

"I was promised a relaxing holiday and so far this fucking boat is misery!"

"It's a perfectly good craft!" shouted Debs.

"It's a floating Wendy house!" he snarled back.

"And just how do you work that out?" she said defensively.

"Because I'm six foot fucking ten and this boat is designed for five footers!"

"Wear the bumper cap!" she shouted back at him pointing to the ridiculous plastic baseball cap someone had Put on board for him.

"Oh yes, that will make all the fucking difference won't it."

"You've done nothing but moan since we started," she shouted back at him.

"Oh good, you noticed," he said with his hands on his hips, "I've managed to keep down one meal in six, I can't sleep at night because the spacious bunks are designed for no one taller than six feet. I get leg cramps, last night I ended up sleeping on the fucking floor!"

"You'll have to deal with it," she said just as cross, folding her arms petulantly.

"Look I was assured that there was a double bed that I would be able to sleep on, only reason I agreed to come."

"Well that's where I have to sleep. It's closest to the radio and navigation equipment and the stern if I have to get out on deck all of a sudden..."

"And I can't sleep there?"

"Not with me you can't."

"Look, I'm not suggesting we talk warm showers in the wee hours, just sleep on the same bed, surely that's not going to end in tears."

"It's totally out of the question!" she snapped.

"OK, then just drop me off in France and I'll get the bus home."

"We aren't going to France!"

"Anywhere! Drop me off ANYWHERE! I CANNOT SLEEP IN A FUCKING SHOE BOX FOR A MONTH - END OF STORY!"

"Oh you bloo..."

"If you call me a snowflake precious, so help me I'll..."

Debs looked concerned for a moment,

"You'll do what?"

"I'll get on the radio, contact whichever coastguard answers me, and tell them I'm being held prisoner on a fucking slave ship!"

"A five star slave ship!" she said with a leer.

"Only if you're one of the seven dwarves!"

"Well you certainly aren't Bashful - Dopey and Grumpy I can believe!"

"Not fucking Happy or Sleepy either," he snarled, "chance'll be fine thing."

He smiled, she smiled, there was a definite ease to the tension.

"One night Debs, please. Let's just try it. I really will get out and walk if it stays like this."

"Ok Dave, we'll try it tonight," she grinned at him, as if testing out if such a thing was allowed.

He bowed,

"Thank you," he reached forward and took her hand and kissed it. She giggled again.

Neither seemed in any great rush to get to bed that night and they sat in the well deck looking up at the slowly setting sun, and the stars that appeared in its lee.

Eventually they both started to hide their yawns and Dave started the process. He stood cleared away their tea mugs and he started to build the double bed the way that they had been shown back in the yard. He took both of their large duvets and their pillows and quickly made the bed while Debs went up and deck and settled everything for the night, content that the alarm would wake her in a few hours and she could check all was still well in their voyage.

She reappeared and saw the bed made and crawled around the edge to get to the bathroom. While she was in there he stripped down to his shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed two water bottles, placing one on each bedside table before dowsing the lights so she could have the darkness to get into bed.

She did so, whispering a 'night-night Dave' to him.

He replied in a slightly dopey parent voice, "G'night honey," before luxuriously stretching out in his bed, he was asleep in moments.

At the sun started to rise Dave was conscious that at some point in the night, they had both rolled together, their duvets over both of them.

He found that Debs was right into him, her head on his shoulder her arm across his waist, just how his wife had done all those years ago. He liked the feeling, and decided to go back to sleep, pulling the duvet back over them both and laying an arm across her waist easing himself fractionally closer to her and she purred her unconscious appreciation.

He woke an hour or so later to find that she had turned in his arms and was now snuggled into him spoons fashion, her bottom pushed into his groin, his arm that had been across her now around her, his hand clamped across her full breast by her hand.

She stretched and ground herself back against him and he squeezed her tight. She purred again squishing her boob with his hand, her hard nipple pushing into his palm.

There was a sharp intake of breath as she woke and remembered where she was,

"Dave!" she spluttered out rolling away from him. She looked down at the hard points sticking out from her grey vest top she had chosen and had kept on after loosing her trousers and boots.

"Sorry Deb," he said, "I was just as surprised as you were mate." He only hoped that she hadn't noticed his erection that he'd pressed into her bottom at one point as he dozed, ready to wake not half an hour before. "I'll get breakfast." He said rolling over and taking an all new look at her lower half, well-muscled and toned legs already tanned in the almost week they had been sailing, tapering up into tight fitting panties that clung to her bottom and groin.

"A cup of tea would be great," she said pulling the duvet over her legs as he stood up, his elasticated boxer shorts giving her the same view that he'd just had. He used the reflection of the highly polished wood and the glass in the kitchen to see that she was checking him out in the very same way.

He made sure he kept facing the kitchen and pumped the water into the kettle and set it to boil, conscious of the limited amounts of gas and electric they had. He unhooked her mug and then his, digging out a single tea bag that he would make last for both mugs.

He saw that she had climbed off of the bed and had started to break it down still just in her vest and panties. She was very easy on the eye he did have to admit, however much she annoyed him.

She opened the aft hatch and popped her head out, looking around for other shipping but there was none. Her standing on the mid step also meant that her shapely bottom was right in his sight line. It was growing on him, even more so when she absent mindedly tucked her pointer finger under the elastic and straightened the seam pulling a bunch out of the cleft, stroking her hand across the same cheek.

"All quiet out there," she said, stepping back down into the cabin, "and we're still on course." She messed around with the computer equipment, "We made for better time than I thought we would..." she stopped talking, "Dave, about this morning..."

"Debs, don't worry about it. I slept properly for the first time since we started this journey, probably why we ended up having a bit of a cuddle. I really didn't mind."

She gave him the first genuine smile he'd ever seen on her pretty face, finally shorn of the hard faced affected look she'd put on the second she came to work for Worldsail International, more like the happy triumphant girl he'd seen sailing into Plymouth on the TV eighteen months before.

And that was how things progressed, they shared a bed in companionable silence, occasionally waking up in the arms of the other and he had to admit that he really liked it. The last few nights he had laid awake listening to the sea through the half open window and thinking his single man thoughts in bed with, on reflection, was one of the most attractive girls he'd ever been this close to.

As he lay there thinking about his beloved Sally and how they had fallen into their night time routine of her reversing into him and him spooning her until she slept, that he noticed that Debs was starting to do the same. She rolled towards him slightly then shuffled closer to lay her head on his shoulder and pull his arm around her, same as she had on about three occasions. He didn't object and turned slightly to face her and move slightly closer.

The were much closer during the day now too, and she was much less guarded around him and, as she had predicted his sea sickness was pretty much cured and he was like a man refreshed, eating well, feeling well and sleeping like a log to wake with this pretty woman in his arms.

They stopped at the Worldsail wharf in the Canaries for a few hours, and topped up and emptied where necessary, heading west for the coast of America. It was nice to step on dry land for a while and buy more Coke.

Despite his generally sleeping like a log, his paternal hearing woke him; his could hear soft sobs and only the rocking of the ship reminded him that he didn't have to jump out of bed and run to his daughters room and check she was OK.

"I'm doing it Daddy..." Debs mumbled, "sails are set... the windvane and the electronics are keeping us on course... making good time... we're not in a race..." she was obviously talking in her sleep and he was hearing one half of the conversation, "but we have to sleep..." she whimpered again, louder this time, "Can't leave it to Dave... landsman... doesn't know... I can't do it all... sorry Daddy... No Daddy NO!" she said in a rising tone and Dave gave her a shake to rescue her from whatever was happening in her dream.

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