Matchmaker 06: June

The accusation had hurt, probably because I knew it was a least partially true, and when I'd met my second girlfriend, I'd made sure to try to do things with her and not be so focused on sex. Our relationship had started out great, but over the next several months it had withered and died, and she'd left me for another man. Someone, she said, 'who makes me feel wanted for more than a friend.'

It'd been almost a year since I'd felt the touch of a woman. I'd had friends try to fix me up, but I'd rarely gotten past a second or third date. I sometimes felt like I was cursed with the dreaded 'he has a good personality' or 'he's a nice guy' stigma, and Rockford Tire was getting to be ever more of a problem, consuming more and more of my energy and time.

That was the past, but it was part of the reason why I'd contacted Brooklyn. I'd found out about her through someone who had used her services and was very pleased with the result. Her fees were ruinously expensive, but he'd assured me she was worth every cent. I clearly needed help selecting someone compatible, and I had to get away from the office. All I knew was work, and I was burning out.

"You okay?" I asked, pulling my thoughts back to the present.

"Sure, why?"

I shrugged. "No reason. Just asking."

She smiled at me in that way she had. Things were better between us, but not great. We got along okay, and the sex was good, but there didn't seem to be any spark. Worse, I didn't know what was missing. She was fascinating, and I wanted to know more about her, but I could feel her slipping through my fingers, as every woman I was interested in had before.

We'd done everything she'd wanted to do, but it was almost as if she was looking for something in me that I wasn't providing, and I felt like I was running out of time to discover it. I hoped taking her out on the boat for a little excitement would give me a clue about what I was missing.

We burbled out of the creek into the open expanse of the harbor. "Shall we see what she can do?"

"You know how to drive this thing, right?" she asked, her voice telegraphing her nervousness. She could clearly sense the power the boat had and the danger it presented if not treated with respect.

I'd driven boats before, but never one this large or powerful. "Sure," I said with more confidence that I felt.

"Then, yeah, let's go."

I rapidly advanced the twin throttles and the dual seven hundred horsepower inboards roared, catapulting us forward. The supercharged engines screamed as we pounded across the water, and I knew immediately where the boat had gotten her name. Had I been anywhere other than the wide expanse of the harbor I would have immediately throttled back, but with plenty of space to let her run, I gave Banshee free rein.

We wailed across the harbor, clearly the fastest thing on the water. I was concentrating, not wanting to kill us through a stupid mistake, but I took the time to glance to Genny. She was beaming, her hair whipped by the wind. I glanced down at the control console, and my eyes opened slightly wider. If the speedometer was accurate, we were doing eighty-six miles an hour across the water. That was fast, far faster than I'd ever gone in a boat before, but it felt like a million.

"This thing is fan-fucking-tastic!" she called to be heard over the screaming bellow of the engines.

"I might have to buy one of these!" I shouted in return.

I gave the same boat we'd rode earlier in the week plenty of room as we howled past, Genny clearly enjoying all the eyes on her as we passed in a blur. It was difficult to be heard over the roaring engines and whipping wind, but she didn't seem to mind, and I was having the time of life. I'd been into cars my entire life, but after this, I might have to check out powerboats. I stayed in the harbor as I gained confidence with Banshee, getting a feel for her. She felt like a sturdy, easy-handling craft, and I pulled the boat into a long, sweeping, full-power turn around an island and headed for the ocean. I felt comfortable enough now with the boat to venture out of the harbor, as long as I kept the coastline in sight.

We roared north, Banshee skipping over the waves with ease. At almost ninety miles an hour, it didn't take long for us to reach our destination. I pulled the throttles back and we rumbled around the north end of Cape Island and crept along the natural channels as I kept a close watch on the depth gauge. The last thing I wanted to do was ground us. Once we were well inside the estuary and away from the ocean, I switched the engines off. The silence was complete.

"That was something!" Genny gushed as she stood.

I smiled, glad she was pleased. "Yeah. This thing is wicked fast. We were doing nearly ninety."

"That's all?" she asked. "It felt like a lot faster."

I nodded. "That's all, but you're right, it felt a lot faster. You want to drive back?"

"No, that's okay," she said as she shook her head, but I could see a yearning in her eyes. I made a mental note of another thing we had in common, and I'd bring it up again when we were ready to leave.

She threw a towel onto the sundeck and stretched out on her stomach. I knew what was expected. I spread her back with sunscreen, slowly working my way down her arms and legs as I did. The feel of her smooth skin under my hands and the way the oil made her glow in the sun gave me a raging erection. I wanted her so badly, but I remembered my past failure and restrained myself. It was unlikely we'd be seen, but this wasn't the time or place, and we'd made love last night.

I picked this spot, a bird sanctuary, because of her love of animals. We spent the next hour with her sunbathing on the rear deck and admiring the uncountable birds as Banshee floated silent and still. We saw a lot of wading birds from the house, especially when the tide was going out, but here the shallows and trees were thick with them.

As she continued to soak up the sun, I went below to prepare lunch. We cooked together at the house, but this was my treat and there was only room for one in the tiny galley anyway. I prepared a light lunch of cold, thinly sliced, turkey topped with cucumber slices, lettuce, and a drizzle of Ranch dressing, all wrapped up in a tortilla. It was too hot for anything other than cold sandwiches. Wraps finished, I pulled a pair of beers from the small refrigerator, picked up the two plates in one hand, the beers in the other, and started abovedeck, pausing to glance again at the bed tucked into the bow of the boat, dreaming of what I'd like to do to her there.

"Lunch is up!" I called as I climbed the short, steep, staircase.

She sat up and smiled. "Thanks, but let's eat below. It's too damned hot to eat up here in the sun."

I almost wilted in relief. "Thank God!"

She giggled as she slid off the sun deck and followed me below, bringing her towel with her so she wouldn't get sunscreen on the cushions. I started the generator and the air conditioning, sighing in relief as the wonderfully cool air began to flow.

"Good," she said after taking a bite of her wrap.

"I slaved over it."

As we ate, we talked about the boat ride, the birds we'd seen, the progress of her tan, and other trivial matters. It was wonderful. We cleaned up, a simple matter of throwing everything into the trash, before I killed the generator and the air conditioner with it.

"Ready to drive back?"

I could see the eagerness in her eyes. "No, you probably should do it."

"How about this," I began. "I'll get us out of here, but once we're out in the ocean, you take over?"

She licked her lips, clearly wanting a chance to try her hand. "I don't know. I've never driven a boat before."

"Come on, you can do it," I said as I started the engines. "Once we're out in the ocean, what can you hit?"

She beamed. "Okay, sure. You get us out of here, though."

I spun the wheel and juiced the throttles to get us turned before pulling them back to just above idle. "Great. Leave me to explain to the owner how I wrecked his boat," I grumbled but smiled at her to show I was teasing.

"You got it in here, you can get it out."

I slowly worked the boat back to the ocean, piloting it until we were three or four hundred yards off the coast before I stepped aside, holding the wheel until she took my place.

"Just like a car, except there are no brakes, and just like in a car, the faster you're going, the gentler the turns. There's the throttles. Let her rip."

"Stay close," she said as she slowly advanced the throttles, causing Banshee to gently pick up speed.

I stood behind her, her back against my chest. I didn't expect her to have any trouble, but it was a good excuse to stand close to her. She quickly gained confidence, and well before we reached the Charleston harbor she was at full power. We wailed past the harbor entrance, never slowing, the tall rooster tail from the engines marking our passage.

We pounded along the coast for over an hour before she pulled the boat into a long sweeping turn to return us to the harbor. I smiled as I watched her control the boat, the craft making her even more alluring, and she doing the same to it. It was entirely coincidental, but the silver of her swimsuit was almost the exact color of the silver graphics on the boat, making her seem part of the machine. I could have watched her pilot the boat all day, but the twin Mercury Marine racing engines were thirsty beasts and we didn't want to run out of fuel.

She kept control of Banshee until we reached the narrow, unnamed channel that led to the house, where she turned the controls back over to me. I tried to talk her into keeping the boat all the way home, but she proved she was smarter than me because I nearly hit the garage trying to return the boat to its garage in the narrow channel.

"That was so much fun," she purred as I tied the boat off and lowered the door to secure the building.

"Yes, it was. I'm glad you had a good time."

"I did."

This house was amazing, and it had everything, including its own fueling station for Banshee. There was no fuel tank visible in the boat garage. I assumed it was located somewhere ashore, probably so if it leaked it wouldn't foul the waters. Putting the holding tank somewhere near the house would also make replenishing the tank more convenient because the delivery guy wouldn't have to drag a hose to the boat garage or drive across the lawn. I started the pump and filled Banshee from the hose hanging in neat loops on the wall as we talked about the day. Banshee secured and fed, I reversed the pump to empty the line before we started for the house. Taking her hand, we ambled along the long wooden walk, the tide water lapping at the pilings. I glanced to the south, watching as the clouds built. It rained a lot in Charleston, a thunder boomer arriving almost every day. It didn't matter if it rained now. We were back home. I was unlocking the door when I heard the first rumbles of distant thunder.

"Looks like it's going to rain... again," I said as I pushed the door open and stepped back for her to enter.

"Yeah. Let's stay in tonight. I don't feel like getting out in the rain."

"Okay. I'm sure we can find something to eat."

"I'm sure," she murmured as she turned to me and melted into my chest, "but there's something else I want to do first."

I smiled down at her, my heart thudding in my chest. "Oh? What?"

She stretched up. "I think you know what," she breathed as I lowered my lips to hers.

I lounged by the pool on a chaise, my eyes closed with my face turned up to the bright South Carolina sky. I'd have a terrific tan by the time I got home. I'd even bought another bathing suit, one that showed a lot more skin to maximize my tanning, though I only wore it around the pool.

As I soaked up the sun, Shelby sat to the side in the shade of a pool umbrella he'd found inside the pool house, wearing only a bathing suit and reading one of my books. I'd never seen a guy sweat so much. He never complained about doing things outside with me, but he had to be miserable.

When I'd first seen him without his shirt on, I'd had to work to keep my jaw from dropping open. He was a real looker, with a sculpted chest to go with the beefy arms I'd noticed the first day. His stomach was flat, and though he didn't have a six-pack of abs, I could tell there was some serious muscle there as well. I also liked the fact he wasn't vain about his appearance, almost like he didn't realize how mouthwatering he was.

I didn't think he was ever going to ask me to bed. When he'd kissed me the second night, he'd kept it sweet and innocent, a perfect ending to a terrific day. The next day he'd held my hand, but at no point had he gotten grabby, and when he'd kissed me good night for the second time, I'd relaxed around him enough, and felt safe enough, that had he asked, I'd have let him take me to bed. I was a little disappointed he hadn't asked, but I'd already figured out he was a slow mover.

That was surprising, considering how he looked. I'd also discovered he had the goods in the bedroom. He was a gentle lover, well equipped to please a woman, and he always made sure I was well satisfied. I couldn't figure out why he was so... reserved... for the lack of a better word. He should be an arrogant ass like most men who were rich and good looking, but he wasn't.

Not only was he wealthy and handsome, he was also competent in everything he did, both in the bedroom and out. Our first night together he'd sent me soaring with his lips and tongue before finishing me off with a slow and gentle love making that left me relaxed and smiling as I fell asleep in his arms. In addition to his bedroom skills, he'd handled the Banshee like he'd been piloting her for years, taking her into places I'd have been terrified to try to go, and when his Chevy wasn't running properly, he'd quickly diagnosed the problem, and with nothing more than a small screwdriver, and fifteen minutes of tinkering, he'd adjusted something so the stumbling, sluggish performance when puttering around town disappeared.

I liked Shelby, and he was a truly nice guy. He was unfailingly polite to everyone, and he treated me with kindness and respect. Good looking, kind, good in bed, handy with tools, raved about my talent and books, and he could cook. He was perfect. Or should have been. I sighed to myself. I should be holding him tight, with claws and fangs bared at any woman who glanced his way, but I wasn't.

I'd thought I'd wanted someone who was low maintenance, and I'd gotten that, but I was missing the ardor of my other lovers. Yes, sometimes they hurt me or pissed me off with their self-centered, and occasionally uncaring, attitudes, but there'd been passion. Shelby was so... accommodating. He was completely unflappable, even when he had every reason to be mad.

The first night, when I'd questioned his manhood, rather than verbally slap me down or telling me to take a hike, he'd brought me breakfast in bed the next morning. It made me feel like a shit for what I'd said, but he'd seemed to have forgotten about and I didn't bring it up again. He'd since proven me wrong, but just once I'd like him to have some fire. I was enjoying the hell out of his slow, gentle, attentive love making, but for a change, I'd like him to pull me to him, rip my clothes off, and fuck the shit out of me.

"I found a typo," he said, smiling at me over the top of my fourth book.

I opened my eyes and rolled my head to look at him. "Where?"

He rose from the chair and brought me the book, pointing to the page with his finger. "Right here. 'Marti said shed picked up the gun...' instead of 'Marti said she'd picked up the gun...'"

I felt the prick of annoyance. "Well, shit."

He chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I know what you meant."

"Still, it pisses me off. The editors are supposed to catch stuff like that."

He shrugged and began to return to his chair. "It happens."

When he turned to sit, I saw his eyes flick up as he looked past me toward the marsh. I turned and saw a guy walking toward us down the plank walkway from the boat garage. Shelby frowned as he closed the book and placed it on the table. I'd heard the buzz of a boat but hadn't paid it any attention. There was plenty of boat traffic in the canal, and after two weeks I no longer noticed it. I sat up, so I could see better, and noticed there was a drab green Jon boat tied to the side of the boat garage.

"Who's that?" I asked as the man continued to approach.

"I don't know. Can I help you?" Shelby called, walking toward the man as the newcomer stepped into the yard.

I rose and followed. I couldn't imagine it was the owner, but it could be someone the owner knew, and I wondered if we'd done something wrong and our vacation was going to be cut short.

"Yeah, sorry to bother you, man. Kevin Stutton, nice to meet you," the man said, extending his hand as he approached us.

Kevin was a big guy, a little taller than Shelby, and though he had a hint of a gut, his big arms and broad chest suggested he was a man that did heavy physical labor. He was probably a little younger than us, perhaps in his early to mid-twenties, and was wearing only a swimsuit and some flip-flops. He wasn't a bad looking guy with his dark hair and eyes, but something was off about him. He was too frenetic, his body in unceasing motion, and he was constantly glancing around, like he was looking for something.

"Nice to meet you, Kevin," Shelby said, taking the guy's hand, "but this is private property."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry man, sorry. I need some gas. You got some gas I can buy?"

"Gas?" Shelby asked.

"Yeah, for my boat," Kevin said, jerking a thumb back toward the marsh. "I'm about out." He turned his attention to me and extended his hand. "Hi! Kevin Stutton! Nice to meet you!"

I took his hand but said nothing. He was giving me the creeps with the way he was looking at me. If Shelby weren't there I'd consider fleeing and locking myself in the house.

"Yeah, I think I can spare a gallon or two. Come with me," Shelby said, motioning toward the boat garage. He started toward the walk, but after a couple of steps, realized Kevin wasn't following. "Kevin? You want the gas or not?"

Kevin finally tore his gaze from me. "What? Oh! Yeah! Sorry. Yeah."

The two men walked away as I watched. I didn't like Shelby being alone with Kevin. I imbibed in nothing harder than alcohol, but I'd seen more than my share of drug use among my former friends. Kevin was clearly on something, probably crank or speed. I knew that shit made people nuts sometimes, and I'd had two friends go completely batshit crazy on a bad speed trip.

A few years ago, at a party with friends, a couple took a large hit of speed before going into the bedroom. They'd done it before, so they could fuck longer, harder, and with increased intensity, but this time the stuff must have been cut with something nasty. While they were fucking their trip had gone bad, and what had started out as cries of pleasure had ended up in screams of rage and pain. When a couple of the guys there pulled them off each other, Josh had a pair of scissors buried in his side, Megan had been bleeding badly after being hit in the head with a lamp, and Megan had Josh on the floor trying to gnaw a hole in his shoulder as he repeatedly stabbed her in the back with the remains of the lamp. I hadn't been there when it happened, but I'd seen the results when I visited them in the hospital. I'd never done drug before, and seeing that was enough to ensure I never would.

As I watched, Kevin stepped off the walk into his boat, did something I couldn't see, and handed up a large red can. Shelby took it and disappeared into the boat garage. The moment Shelby was inside, Kevin hopped back up onto the walk and started walking toward the house. That made me very uncomfortable, and I turned to go inside and lock the door.