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She snorts quietly, and takes another sip of wine. I top us both up again and she smiles a small, wan thanks at me.

"I've always wanted to be like you," I say after a while. "You always seem to know what you want and where you should be. I have my non-profit, and Indigo... but not much other than that, really."

"You cut yourself off to much," she observes, quietly.

"Yeah, I guess I do," I agree. "I guess I'm scared of disappointment."

"Disappointment?" she asks, curious.

"I guess I'm worried that people will try to take advantage of me once they find out about the money."

"It's a risk, Bella. But life is about taking risks. You're an awesome, loving, generous woman. Hot, to boot. Don't isolate yourself from the people who would appreciate that."

I blush at the compliments, and Emma blesses me with a small smile. I take a long sip of wine and eat another cracker to try to mask the embarrassment, but I know she sees right through me.

"I'd settle for a single person appreciating me," I mutter.

Emma shrugs, and shoots me an unreadable look. "I appreciate you, but I know that's not what you mean. Isn't there anyone in your life, Bella?"

"Nope. I'm all alone."

Emma shakes her head. "Now that's a crime."

I snort, startled. "Why?"

"You're far too cute to be single, Bella. We need to find you a girl."

"I'll advertise in Single Lesbians Weekly," I mutter sourly. Emma lets out a startled laugh at that, and I give her a wry grin.

I finish my glass of wine, and Emma empties hers too.

"Should I open another bottle?" I ask her. She shakes her head.

"I need to shower first," she says. "I need to wash the stink of the motorway and of him off me. Then we can drink."

"Good plan. Did you remember a towel and toiletries?"

"If you can call them that, yes."

"Tell you what, I'll go shower now too and you can borrow from my stash as you need to."

"Thanks, Bella, you're my angel," she says.

--

The shower water is gloriously hot for once, and I spend an indulgent amount of time just letting it run over my body, washing away the day's grime.

I soap myself up thoroughly, and massage my breasts a bit to work out some tenderness caused by my sports bra. I hear Emma singing snippets of nonsense and popular songs in the cubicle adjacent to me, and I grin to myself.

Emma's mood always improves near water. It's her element.

I lean against the wall, listening to her soft, husky alto, letting the water play over my shoulders and back and stream down my legs. Then I shake my head, and start to rinse the soap off my body. I kill the water and wrap a towel around myself as I exit the cubicle. I grab a second towel from the countertop which I wrap around my dripping hair. Only then do I notice that Emma's made the cardinal error of leaving both her towels on the countertop.

I grab one of them and knock on her cube door.

"Em?"

"Yeah?"

"You forgot your towel."

"Oh, right."

She yanks open the door to her cubicle, and for once in my life I'm struck totally dumb. Wordlessly I offer her the towel, and she takes it with a distracted smile, before closing the door behind her.

I stand there, the vision of her naked body seared into my mind.

Emma is my height; tall and slender, with shapely hips and a flat toned belly. Her breasts are small but perfect, falling in lovely classic teardrop shapes, with matching small dark nipples. Her face is round, her jawline delicate, her hair shoulder-length and a true raven black. Her bum is tight, round, and totally free of the cellulite which plagues so many of our compatriots here in the British Isles. Her sex is shaven bare apart from a narrow landing strip of jet-black, close-cropped fur.

She's perfect. She's gorgeous. She blows all my fantasy women out of the water. And I suddenly realise that I have a serious problem on my hands, because there's no way the vision of her is not going to intrude on my fantasies.

"You're very quiet out there," she calls. "Everything ok?"

I jerk spastically and retreat to the counter, where I avoid meeting my eyes in the mirror. She's my sister, and I should definitely NOT be having the thoughts I was just having about her.

"I'm fine," I call, flustered. "Just a bit distracted is all."

I busy myself drying my own hair. After a while, I manage to meet my own gaze. I note with chagrin that my cheeks and throat are flushed. They might as well be a big scarlet letter pinned to me.

A sudden fit of whimsy takes me, and I let my hair out of the towel and stand, eyeing myself.

My strawberry-blonde locks have a natural curl to them which never really goes away, no matter how much I try. Blue eyes... but at least I'm not a dumb blonde, I suppose. I shrug my second towel off, mentally comparing my body to the vision of Emma.

We're both blessed with small, well-proportioned breasts and shoulders, and a genetic predisposition towards being slender. But you could never mistake my body for hers. I have awkward angles, Em's filled out and just has delicious curves. I admit, however, that I'm attractive enough to warrant glances in the street; my body is toned and my stomach is nicely defined, both benefits of the free time I have to spend in the gym.

But ranked against Em? I'm second rate, no doubt about it. There's something about her that just oozes sex appeal, and as a result, she's never short of an entourage of male 'friends'.

I sigh and drag my tank-top and fleece back on. Then I pull on some pyjama bottoms and wait for Em to emerge.

--

Em opens a second bottle of wine as I turn down the heater and crack open a deck hatch. The cabin has grown stuffy while we were washing, and I hate trying to sleep in a room that's too hot. It's easier to make a hot water bottle than it is to try to get a breeze through the forecabin of Indigo. I shoot Em a look, watching her as she pours our wine. Her damp, dark hair falls in tangled strands, leaving wet trails on her short-sleeved top. She and I are both barefoot; Indigo's cabin sole is a wood composite laminate which insulates well enough that one seldom needs slippers, even in the dead of winter.

"Here," Em says, holding out a glass for me. I accept it and take a sip of wine before I slide in again next to Em at the saloon table. I lean back into the corner formed by the fore cabin's partition wall and watch her.

Em stares at nothing for a bit, then shakes her head slightly.

"Talk to me," I say, quietly.

"I'm just angry, Bella."

"I know. But tell me what's on your mind. You may find it helps."

She shrugs, drinks, and leans back against the backrest. Part of me can't help but notice the way her breasts distort the fabric of her tee-shirt. I shove that thought to one side and try to devote my attention to her words.

"I've known something was wrong for a while, now," she says after a short silence. "He was always working late. He was distant at home, and our sex life was pretty perfunctory."

I raise an eyebrow but say nothing. Em's never told me much about what goes on in her bedroom.

She looks up at the cabin lights, and pulls a face. "I put it down to work stress at first, on both our parts. But it went on for far longer than that would explain. And now, today."

"On the plus side, at least you know what was going on," I offer. "I know it's not much comfort, Em, but better this than finding out when he comes home with herpes."

She laughs at that, a loud whoop, and I grin.

"I hope he gets crabs," she says viciously. "I hope he gets so many that they have to put him in an isolation ward and burn his clothes."

I smirk at the image and reach out to rub her shoulder.

"So tell me about why you're single, Bella."

I frown. "Monumental incompetence at finding available women," I respond, sighing. "You know how much I hate clubbing, and... well, lets just say it's not really all that easy to find single girls who like girls elsewhere."

"I suppose it's easier for me, I just have to show a guy some cleavage."

"To be fair," I say unthinkingly, "your cleavage is fantastic."

Em chokes on her wine, and I flush scarlet. She sets the wineglass aside, and eyes me speculatively, wiping her lips.

"I have no idea why I said that," I confess.

"I'll take it in the spirit that it was offered, as a heartfelt compliment from someone I love."

"Please do," I say, face still flaming.

She grins at me. "You're good for my self-esteem, Bella."

"Someone has to do the job," I mutter. I shift uncomfortably. Em notices, and wraps her left arm around me, pulling me hard against her.

"Don't stress about it, Bella. I know you didn't mean anything by it."

Little does she know, of course.

--

See, the problem is, I've had a thing for Emma for as long as I can remember. It started off as a sibling crush, but has evolved from there to something that I have to keep buried deep, that I try not to admit even to myself.

I can't remember when I first realised that I wanted her. It's been a part of me so long. But it's a hopeless kind of wanting; Em's straight, and what's more she's my sister, and there's absolutely no way anything will ever happen.

So I've tried to appreciate her as she is. But tonight... seeing her naked, however briefly, has pushed me into a headspace I've not been in for a while, and I belatedly realise that I need intimacy, contact of some kind. Being by myself has advantages, but it means that I never, ever get laid.

This means that my fantasies are pretty much my sole method of release. And tonight's vision of her is going to make those a perilous place to go. --

"Leave the dishes in the sink, Em" I tell her as I make my bed in the forecabin. Traditionally the skipper of a boat would take the aft cabin, but I love lying with my head near the bow of Indigo, feeling her shifting with the tide and wind.

I hear Emma bumping around in her cabin. I fluff up my pillow in the vee formed where the hull narrows towards the bow, then clamber back off the bed. I move through the saloon, making sure all the hatches are latched and that the companionway hatch is locked (away, nighttime prowlers!) before poking my head through into the stern cabin. Em's wriggling around, making a little nest for herself under some sheets.

"Want the light off?" I ask her.

"Mm. Yes, please. What ungodly hour are you planning to be up tomorrow, Bella?"

"Seven am, darling. I've got to check the weather forecast."

"Ugh. Do it quietly, please, I suspect I'm going to have a whore of a hangover in the morning."

I laugh, then lean over and plant a kiss on Emma's forehead. "Go to sleep, Em. You've had a shitty day, but tomorrow will be better."

"G'night, Bella. Love you," she mumbles.

"Love you too." I return, before I kill her light and close the cabin door for her.

I shut off the saloon lights and return to my cabin, where I clamber onto the bed. Light from the waning quarter moon mixes with the walkway safety lights, reflecting off the water outside and in through the portholes, casting ripples on the ceiling. I watch these, trying not to think about how horny I am.

But my frustration is mounting. It's been over a year since I was last with a girl, and I crave to be touched, loved, used... usually I can suppress the urge during the day, but at night it returns, amplified, and I must either suffer in silence or play with myself to vent some of the need.

I'm tipsy, but not too drunk to orgasm easily, so the choice is clear. It's warm in the cabin, so I strip off my top, pants and briefs and lie there, enjoying the sensation of the cool air on my skin. Slowly, I reach down to myself with my right hand, caressing my sparsely-covered mons. I'm amused and yet unsurprised to find that I'm rather wet. Truth be told, I've been aching for a couple of hours now, and had to really restrain myself from pressing up against Em at the saloon table.

My finger slips gently between my lips, sending small tingles up my spine. My clit, already engorged, stands proud from my inner lips, and I slowly start to stroke around it as I give myself the attention I so desperately need. I close my thighs on my hand, enjoying the sensation of pressure it creates on my outer lips, then spread them again so that I can stroke further down to and into my entrance. I can feel my nipples harden, and I bring my left hand up to gently stroke first my left and then my right nipple and from there the undersides of my breasts.

I can't help but imagine Emma touching me like this, and I let slip a small moan before I clench my jaw. The last thing I need is to wake her up.

The fingers of my right hand are slick with me now, and I move my left down too so that I can work my index and middle fingers into my soaking vagina while I stroke myself silly with my right. I plateau slowly, hampered by the alcohol in my system. I can feel small drops of sweat forming and rolling down over my chest and stomach as my breathing becomes ragged.

Slowly I build. My muscles start to tense as I come close, and I arch my back, driving hard down into myself. My climax takes me then, hard; my body spasms and I gasp for breath, fingers playing a mad fugue on and around my clit and lips. It passes like a wave, and I slump back onto the bed, panting.

Slowly my heart-rate drops and I lie, languidly watching the roof, feeling Indigo move beneath me, listening to the gentle slap of waves on the hull and the dry creaking of mooring lines stretching and easing.

Loneliness finds me eventually, and I roll over onto my side, curling into a ball. It's a futile carryover from my youth, where I made myself small to try to hide from things that upset me.

Once again, I fall asleep to the sensation of an empty bed around me and an aching, hollow hole in my heart where someone should be.

--

Conversation wakes me. I uncurl, roll over onto my back, and listen. I hear Emma's voice; she's having a muffled one-sided discussion, I presume with her cellphone. I pull on my discarded panties and shirt and slip quietly off my bed, out through the door, and into the saloon.

Quickly, I work out that she's talking to Alan, and I can hear from her voice that she's been crying.

Anger seizes me, and I stomp to her door, pushing it open. Em's face is illuminated by her cellphone, and the streaks of tears glitter on her cheeks. This pushes me into my Red Zone, as I call it.

Em yelps in surprise as I grab her cellphone from her. I hold up a finger to forestall any argument from her, and listen to Alan grovelling for a short while.

Then I interrupt him.

"Alan? This is Isabel. You're a cunt. Don't bother phoning back. I'm removing Emma's phone's battery. Fuck off and die in a fire."

I hang up. Emma's mouth makes a little 'O' of surprise as I do as I'd threatened, yanking the backplate of her Samsung off and freeing it from its slavery to electricity.

"Do I need to confiscate this?" I ask her, waving the battery at her.

"No. I'm actually glad you did that. He wouldn't stop phoning."

"Fucking ingrate," I mutter. "Was he trying to weasel out of it? Did he trip and accidentally put his cock in her pussy?"

"He claims it was only once, and that it didn't mean anything," she says, quietly.

"They all read the same script, don't they?"

She sighs. I place the phone and battery on top of the cabin locker, and then climb into the bed with her.

"Bella?"

"Shush," I say, as I pull her into my arms. She resists, briefly, before giving in and curling up hard against me, crying silently.

And again, there's nothing I can do but hold her until the shaking stops.

Eventually, she sleeps. I, however, lie awake for a long time plotting vengeance scenarios.

--

Sunlight wakes me, of course, and I ease myself out of bed, trying not to wake Emma. I feel wooly-headed from the disturbed sleep and quantity of wine I drank, and I rub at my eyes as I sit down at the navigation station and turn on the VHF radio set. It's just gone seven in the morning, and the Solent Inshore weather forecast is broadcast on the half-hour, so I have time to wake up. I fill the kettle and turn it on, then check Indigo's batteries and water levels, both of which are fine. Fuel levels are a little over three-quarters of a tank, which is more than enough for where I plan to go this weekend.

The kettle boils, and I make myself a cup of coffee and Emma a cup of hot chocolate, which I leave on the small platform next to her bed.

I open the companionway hatch to let the cabin vent, and poke my head out. The sun's already well above the horizon and it looks to be a glorious day. I sip my coffee, happily enjoying the faint stirring of breeze. I'm looking forward to getting the sails up later.

The VHF set crackles into life, and I quickly turn down the volume as I hear Emma making protesting noises from her cabin.

"All stations, all stations, all stations, this is Solent Coastguard, Solent Coastguard, Solent Coastguard, with an important Maritime Safety Announcement."

I turn the set down further, and listen as the Coastguard issue the inshore weather forecast. Nothing hectic in the next six to twelve hours, though the wind will freshen from the west. Tonight and tomorrow could be more interesting; there is a low pressure cell moving in from the North Atlantic which could perhaps change course and bring rain and high winds to the Solent. I make a note to have us berthed well before dusk.

But for the morning, certainly, all should be well.

I hear Em moving around. She emerges after a short while, an attractive yawn on legs, tousle-haired and sandy-eyed. She sips her hot chocolate and gives me a small, distracted smile. I, meanwhile, try not to stare at the way her boy-shorts frame her bum.

"Morning, gorgeous," I drawl at her.

"Weather?" she asks, smiling sleepily at me and yawning again.

"Fine for now, dire this evening, perhaps," I answer. "We'll tie up somewhere and get drunk."

"Sounds delicious." she says. Then she puts her cup down, and walks over to me. She wraps her arms around me, and squeezes me tightly. "Thank you for looking after me last night, Bella."

"Em, you'd do the same for me. Don't mention it," I say, uncomfortably aware of the feel of her body against me. I look up at her, shove my discomfort aside, and smile at her. "You ok?"

"Better now that I've had a hug. What's for breakfast?"

I ponder. "We need to do a supply run. I'm thinking Gosport or Cowes this evening, so supper will be pub grub, but we do need stuff for lunch too."

"Cowes. Lets go to Cowes. I like it there."

"Ok then. Breakfast and lunch run to Tesco?"

"Deal," she says. She nips back into her cabin, and I'm titillated by the snatched glimpses of her stripping and dragging on tracksuit pants and a tee-shirt.

"Nice floorshow," I call, amused. I hear her throaty laugh.

"Stop perving, I'm your sister," she calls back at me, then shoots me a wink. I snort and shake my head, filing bits of her performance away for my later amusement.

--

"Let go bow!" I call. Indigo's engine is ticking over at a shade over fifteen hundred RPM, enough to give her headway and trigger the bow thruster circuits so that I'll be able to use the thruster to maneuver us out of the berth.

"Bow clear!" comes Em's shouted response. I lean over and slip the half-hitch that's securing the final line from Indigo's stern to the jetty, and hurriedly pull the short working end back on deck to prevent it fouling the propellor. Indigo noses out of her berth, and I put the helm hard over starboard, giving her a solid three second burst of bow thruster to aid the turn once we're clear of the end of the berth.

"Freedom!" Em calls to me. I grin, then concentrate on getting Indigo into the channel while Emma tidies the deck and stows the lines and fenders. Then she comes and stands alongside me in the cockpit. I smile at her, then step aside.