Come Sail Away With Me

She almost falls the last two steps, but his long strong arm folds her in. He strips them both of their slickers, using only one hand. He stands there like some ancient Viking mariner, salt spray dotting his blonde hair and pointed beard and mustache Even the tiny triangle beneath his lip is flecked with spray. His legs are supported by the pulpit lifelines; one arm is on the forward mainstay, the other holding her tight against his body. She feels helpless, but protected as the bow rises and falls five or six feet with each wave, slapping sharply on the down stroke. "I had no idea a boat this big could go this fast with just the wind," she tries to tell him.

"What?" he yells in her ear.

"The wind, strong, fast," she screams into the wind and salt spray, her long red hair streaming past his face.

They stand there for perhaps twenty minutes. Behind them, the crimson sun is extinguishing itself in the sea. His forearm across her body, between her breasts, holds her tight against his muscled body. She can feel him breathing, his chest rising and falling against her back, smell the manly aroma of him; of thistle and spice and leather and a touch of sweat. Darkness comes suddenly as the remaining fire of the sun sinks into the sea. Chastity has never seen the sun set so quickly. For about two minutes, the night is ebony, black as she has ever experienced. Then, a tiny slice of moon appears ahead of them, emerging slowly from the ocean. Within two minutes, a shining quarter-moon hangs over the horizon, casting a river of silver before them, as if to guide them on their journey. Lance leans them forward, the boat plunging into the night, salt spray crashing over them as they dash down the silver river in the sea. "Look," Lance exclaims, inclining his head to the starboard. In the shimmering wake of their bow, a school of porpoises swims, dives, leaps and dances in seeming joy.

"How perfect," she screams to him, "Just for us." Finally, at last, Chastity has accepted him as a man and herself as a woman in his arms. She lays back softly against his hard body, warm against her back, allowing herself to be supported, held. His breath is soft and warm in her ear. Slowly Chastity becomes aware of the hardening presence of his manhood against the small of her back. Something hot inside touches her, just below her belly. "Oh God," she thinks, "If he moves, if he touches me, I'll cum." The boat rushes on into the night. Their shining river of silver beckons and the porpoises go on cavorting in their wake. Lance remains silent, simply holding her. "Why doesn't he kiss me?" she asks herself. "Why the hell doesn't he kiss me?"

"Why don't you kiss me?" She hears herself say. "What," he yells over the roar. "Nothing, it's all so beautiful! That's all," she screams. She isn't sure her mind wants what her body has called out for.

Instead of hollering, he bends his head closer to her ear, "We should go back to the stern. This is a bit reckless."

His soft voice in her ear sends armies of goose bumps marching along her already chilly forearms. "Just a few more minutes, Please?"

"Okay. But hold on," he whispers. He lets go of the mainstay and replaces his hand with her left hand. He moves her right hand behind her to grasp the mainstay also. Extricating himself from her body, he wedges each of her legs to a pulpit lifeline support. He steps off the pulpit and moves back. She stands alone, leaning forward in the pulpit like a carved figurehead, her hair streaming behind her in the wind, salt spray dampening her face and neck and the gentle curve of her breasts, outlined in the damp 'sexy' dress. Thrilled by the naked exhilaration in her countenance, he lets his right hand fall in front of him to hide his growing erection, even though she is looking ahead, not at him. "Maybe soon," he says to himself, "but not yet, she is skittish. Who could have hurt her so much that she thinks she doesn't like sex?" he asks the angels of his better nature.

For Chastity, standing in the pulpit of a boat racing before the wind has become her favorite thing. Never in her short life has anything so thrilled her, so possessed her heart and soul and body. Lance leaves her there a few more minutes, watching her lovely breasts rise and fall with her emotions.

The mainsail loses the wind for a second and the boat heels abruptly upright. Chastity screams in terror as one hand and one foot slip from their mooring. "Let go," Lance yells. "Come to me!" She has extricated her other foot and taken a step toward him when the deck rises beneath her. She stumbles two more steps and falls heavily into his arms. Immediately, Lance steps back, leaning his weight against the forward cabin, securing them both. She is sprawled over the front of him, between his legs. One of his hands holds her back; the other has a firm grip on her left buttock. A few seconds passes while they catch their breath and regained reality. Their violent joining, rather than discouraging his erection, has stimulated him so much that his penis is a large, pulsing, living force between their bodies. Chastity is highly aware of its presence.

For several heartbeats they remain motionless, eyes locked and bodies hard against one another. With every fiber of his soul, Lance longs to kiss her. . . and more. He clears his lungs and his mind with a deep breath, forces his body to react. He releases her from his arms, but immediately places both her hands on the forward stay. "Hang on here! Do not let go until you hear me call you." He holds her waist from behind with both hands as he squeezes past her to head for the stern.

As Lance breaks physical contact with her, Chastity feels a flickering moment of great loss. As the feeling passes, so too does the momentary surge of intense fear at being tossed overboard. What remains in her is a huge bright emptiness ,full of starlight and wonder and uncharted possibilities. She feels the boat level itself and slow somewhat. From the vast beyond, it seems, Lance's voice beckons her, "Chastity, Chas, are you okay, come astern, okay. Chas?"

She has begun her journey down the side deck, when his voice rings out again. "Chas, use the lifeline! Never let go of the lifeline!"

She shakes her head to clear it, grasps the lifeline and moves slowly back to where he stands at the helm. When she is within arms reach, he takes her by the wrist, guides her to him, bades her sit. "Are you sure you're okay? I am so sorry, so so sorry."

"Huh, what. What did you do?"

"I was reckless and careless and put your life in danger to show off to you."

"Wanna do it again?" she asks.

"Huh?"

"That was the most powerful, exhilarating experience of my life. By far."

"You liked it?"

"I loved it. Are you going to tell me now that you arranged the whole thing: the moon, the porpoises, everything?"

"Will you at least give me credit for setting up the possibilities?"

"Done!"

As he stands in the cockpit, looking like some sort of prep school pirate, he lets his hand fall onto her shoulder where she sits there beside him. He caresses her once, minutely, then leaves his hand resting there. She turns slightly to tell him with her eyes that his touch is welcome. Directly in front of her eyes, the soft linen of his trousers is tented with the fullness of his manhood. He is still erect after all this time. Yet he has said nothing, made no overtures toward her, will not even move to kiss her. Her fingers twitch. "God," she admonishes herself, "I almost reached out and touched him." Instead, she rises to stand beside him, tucks his arm around her waist, rests his palm on the soft curve of her hip, and leans against him, reveling in the closeness.

They sit together then, sipping fine brandy and talking, as Lance motors them back to the yacht club.

"Lance? I. . ."

"What? Can I get you. . .?"

"Please, don't speak. There's something I need to say." Chastity takes a deep breath, then continues. "I owe you an apology. . ."

"No. . ."

"Don't speak," she adds sharply. "I do. Everything you have said or done since I saw you that first night has been to please and honor me and I have responded by being a total bitch. Uh uh, don't talk. The way you are with everyone you meet, with the boys and the waiters and everyone you meet, even me. So caring. I guess I . . . I don't know. I think I am afraid of you. Afraid to believe. Afraid to trust."

"One thing wealth has taught me, Chas, we have to care for each other, it's all we have. It's what your life is all about, your work, what you do. Can I say something to you? Will you promise to think and not react?"

"Okay, I'll try. Hit me with it."

"Lance responds with a deep soft laugh. "That's better. Humor is good. What I have to say, Chastity, is that I think you are more afraid of yourself than me. I wonder if that's because you have only meet men who are creeps, or because you need to trust yourself a bit more?"

Neither speaks again. Chastity leans into his strong wide chest and dozes, rousing only when Lance cuts the engines at the jetty.

As she drifts up from sleep, a familiar face comes into her view. "Freddy! Hi Freddie"

"Hello, Ms. O'Doyle, Hey L. . . uh, Mr Tollidair."

"Hey, Tie us off would ya Freddie?"

"No sweat, got it Mr. Tollidair.

They walk through the club to the front door, where the valet already waits with her car. She stands outside her car for several minutes, making idle chatter and looking up into Lance's captivating eyes. "Lance, thank you. I can't remember when I have had such a wonderful time. I do believve you have made sailor of me."

"Well, next time bring your parrot and learn to say ARRRGH."

She laughs, to his ears, a sound like gentle spring rain.

"Well, good night," he says, opening the door for her.

She slides in and starts the engine. Lance turns up the walk toward the club entrance. Chastity starts to drive away, stops suddenly, rolls her window down. "Lance," she calls, just as he opens the door.

He turns.

"How come you didn't even try to kiss me," she yells.

"You never asked me," he answers, entering the club, the door swinging shut behind him.

*** *** ***

Several days have passed and Lance has not called. Not that Chastity is worried. She doesn't need him or any man to 'fulfill' her. She has learned from Margret, however, that her Kenya proposal has been approved by PierceCo. The funding level is not yet known, but it is expected to be substantial. She is a bit miffed that Lance's involvement seems to lessen her achievement, but, she supposes, as a representative for the funding source, he actually is more important. Still. . .

Her thoughts are interrupted by the ping that tells her she has a new e-mail. She brings it up. It is from Margaret, requesting her immediate presence in the board room. It sounds urgent. "Have I done something?" she asks herself, worried she might have screwed up on the new inner city proposal, she checks her hair and makeup before hurrying to the board room.

"Surprise!" the cheers and applause of a dozen colleagues greet her as she enters the room. The applause continues so long that Chastity is embarrassed. Finally it subsides.

"Well, say something," Margaret tells her.

"Wha. . . What is this all a, a, about," Chastity stammers.

"It's about you," Laura Anne, her colleague from PR shouts. "You got your grant!"

"Really?" Chastity is pleased, despite her feigned modesty.

"Not only that," Margaret continues, wait. . . let me read it. She reaches into the pocket of her tweed jacket and pulls out a letter. "Let me see," she begins. Approved . . . However. . . Here it is: PierceCo finds, in its analysis of the requested funding level that the requested amount may be insufficient to accomplish the stated objectives. Therefore'. . ."Wait, Wait, here it is. 'The proposed administrator is granted an additional FIVE MILLION DOLLARS over and above the requested amount.' Isn't it wonderful? I couldn't believe it myself." Cheers and applause break out once more and go on for some time. Margaret continues. "I got their chairman, Mr. Mileski, on the phone and he confirmed everything, and, listen to this, he said he thought this idea was the best they had had all year and that the request for funding proposal was among the most cogent, precise and professional the organization had ever received."

"There's champagne for everyone, but don't drink too much. Everybody's going home. The rest of today and all day Friday are, as of right now, considered administrative leave. Go home!"

Chastity mills around in a daze for half an hour or so. Everyone is shaking her hand and patting her back and handing her glasses of champagne. Though she never takes more than a few sips from any one glass, she feels herself becoming quite tipsy before the party finally dribbles away. She is the last to leave, save Margaret who has to usher Chastity out so she can lock up. Before parting, she grasps Chas by the upper arm, turns to face her. "I hope you realize, Chastity, Ms. O'Doyle, that you have just brought in excess of one and one half million dollars in administrative expenses into this agency. This will mean a raise and a hefty bonus. Thank you so much Chastity." The women hug and Margret goes on her way.

Chastity has a huge grin on her face as she makes her way to the parking lot and her Jetta. She stops short. Lance stands leaning against her car, legs crossed. His tall, graceful, muscular figure is, as usual, impeccably dressed, this time in a European cut raw silk suit of light gray and charcoal. In his arms, Lance holds a huge bouquet of flowers. "Hail the conquering hero," he salutes. "or is it heroine? One never knows these days. Anyway, congratulations. These are for you." He holds out the bouquet. Chastity is stunned and speechless. To keep herself from stammering, she spends a few moments examining the flowers. She can make out, amid the profusion, purple coneflowers, California daisies, poppies, asters, sweet Williams, primroses, foxgloves, and so many more she could never have identified them all. "They are beautiful," she gasps. "How did you ever. . . and how did you know. . ."

"It seemed normal and natural that you would prefer wildflowers. Was I right?"

"Absolutely perfect. Especially the purple coneflowers. They are my all-time favorites. Did you really just guess." Chastity could not quite figure out if she were actually feeling shy around him, or if she was shamelessly flirting. Maybe it was the champagne.

"Chastity, Chas, you should know by now I never guess. I did a careful and logical analysis of what I knew about your personality and made a reasonable choice. Then. I got lucky!"

Chastity bursts out laughing. "Oh you. See how you are?" She flips her head to toss a few strands of hair out of her face. She finds herself leaning toward him. Now she knows she is flirting. She blushes. " Will you let me take you out to celebrate? Will you please Chas.?"

His request sobers her a bit. "Uh, uh, hang on a sec. I have to ask you something." Now, suddenly, she is all business again, the flirting gone, her manner stiff and cool. She pauses to measure her words.

"Yes, Chas, what is it?"

"Did you. . .that is. . .did. Hmm," she cleared her throat. Because you. . .uh, like, uh, me. Did you influence the Kenya proposal to ease your way into my pants?"

"Chastity, I," he hesitates.

"Well, did you?"

Instead of answering, he pulls out his cell phone, punches in a number, waits. "Edward. Would you please pull the Lincoln around to the second level of the Walthrop building's parking garage. I would like you to pick up Ms. Chastity O'Doyle and take her to her home please, I will call a taxi for myself. Thank you Edward."

Turning to Chastity. Lance says in a very cold tone. "You are in no shape to drive, I have my chauffeur, Edward, coming around to take you home. I will arrange for someone to come and get your car and take it to your house. Give me your keys." He holds out his hand, palm up. She can see it trembling, realizes she has angered him.

"Lance, I didn't mean. . ."

"Oh no? What did you mean? Do you honestly think so little of me that you think I would. Would. . .You are impossible. I want nothing more to do with you. Now give me those keys."

Now Chastity is trembling. Though he has made no move to strike her, his anger rolls over her like a tropical storm. She feels tiny and helpless in the face of his rage. Obediently she holds out her keys.

"Unless you are a more foolish woman than I think you are, you will remain here a few more minutes until Edward arrives. I. . .I. . . I have to, have to, g, go." He whirls and strides away from her, his long steps traversing the space to the door in moments. Just before he goes through the door, he turns and looks at her. He stands for a moment, gazing at her. The look on his face speaks of things that might have been, perhaps should have been. "Goodbye Chastity," he says, and vanishes through the door.

During the ride to her house in the Lincoln limousine, Chastity has much to think about. "Why, why, why?" she keeps asking herself, as the tears begin to well in her eyes. "Why was he so offended?" She had merely asked him a simple question about his motivation in approving her Kenya proposal. She has a right to know. After all, she cant afford to have people think she would sleep with him to influence his decision. What was she going to do now? "Uh, hold on," the little cricket on her shoulder tells her, "You haven't slept with him. In fact, you've made things pretty miserable for him. He has received nothing from you. And yet you think he has decided in your favor. Why would he do that? Why would he continue to try with you, when he could probably have any woman he wants? And anyway, what the hell are you crying about. Are you crying because he didn't try to sleep with you? Or are you crying because now you've blown it and will never get to sleep with him? And be honest, Chas, you don't mean 'sleep', do you? And what do you mean, what are you gonna do now. If you don't want to be with him, 'go to bed' with him, then what's the problem? You have fixed it so now you will never have to. So why is that bad?"

Life is so confusing. Life was so simple before she met him. She can now go merrily along with her life as if she and Mr. Lance Tollidair, Lance the lancer, had never met, can't she?

A single tear wends its way down her pale cheek. In moments she is sobbing uncontrollably. She tries to control herself, does not know the source of her tears, can't let Edward see her in this condition. She digs in her purse for a crumpled tissue, mops her face, clears her throat. Several deep, deep breaths bring her some semblance of composure.

When they arrive at her house, Chastity mumbles a quick 'thank you' to Edward and rushes in. She sits brooding for about fifteen minutes. Suddenly she has an idea. She gets her phone out and dials the number for her boss, Margaret. "Hi, Margaret," she says when the phone is answered. "I am sorry to bother you at home, but I have an important question to ask you."

"Well, fire away. I'll help if I can.

"Did you know that I had dated Lance Tollidair?"

"Oh really, how wonderful for you. You're a lucky girl."

"Just answer the question," Chastity says, somewhat more sharply than she intends. "Did you know about it?"

"Well, no Chas, I didn't. Not until you just told me, just now. Is there. . . a, a problem?"

"Margaret, that is exactly what I am trying to find out."

"I don't get it. What's the deal, Chas.?"

"I guess I'll ask you straight out. Did, ah, er do you think Lance, er, that is, Mr. Tollidair, was influenced in the decision to fund out program because he, er wish. . . wanted. . . Oh shit!"

"Are you trying to say that you traded sex for a positive decision on the Kenya plan?"