Pirate Days


While 'I don't know' was a nice segue into some marital bliss, I really wanted to know the answer to my question. I did some searching online. What I found was quite revealing.

I read, "When a man's seminal vessels (that is where the semen and sperm are stored after being manufactured) gets full, a signal is sent to the brain saying that it is time to empty. Since young men produce more semen than older men, they get the signal more often, every couple days, thus their greater desire for sex. The fuller the seminal vessels get, the more urgent the signal and men are compelled to think of sex. It is not a deliberate or rational choice, but a biological function. Most men do not even realize what is happening, so being rational simply means, 'where is my woman.' 'Wet dreams' is one way the male expels the built up semen. Masturbation is another popular method. For married men, sexual intercourse is the desired way, because it relieves the sexual tension and provides a powerful emotional bonding between the husband and wife. Furthermore, sexual intercourse is of itself addicting, because of it desirable physical and mental properties, so sexual intercourse is sought after on a regular basis, which sets humans apart from other mammals."

I had always accepted that men also gain a sense of power because of the woman's submissiveness. What I read next put into words what I felt but couldn't articulate.

"Women also greatly desire sex because of its powerful physical and emotional effects. Power is part of that emotional mix. The submissive behavior of a woman is actually her exercising power over her male partner. Few males can resist the lure of a sexually willing female. Some researchers believe that a married woman, who seeks to attract the attention of a male other than her husband, is her way of reassuring herself that she is still posses her womanly power and desirability."

The next time Randi brought her kids over to play, I read my findings to her.

"So you think," Randi said, "Susan isn't keeping Dan emptied out, thus he is driven by biological and emotional forces and he has pick sweet little you as his JJ partner; or is it, sweet little Dawna has put a spell on poor Dan and he is helpless to get away."

I let silence be my answer.

"Perhaps we should talk with Susan and let her know she is not just punishing her husband but pushing him into the hands of a seducer. Do you think she would listen?" Randi asked.

When I responded, I ignored the seducer comment. "I don't know, she is a hard read," I said. "I suppose someone should tell her. I am sure she will get mad as hell at whoever delivers the news. 'Hey Susan, you know that little spat you had, well it is time to forgive and forget. That little hole between your legs is getting pretty dry and it is time to open up and let your man fill you up again. Oh, and one other thing, stop being such a bitch!'"

Randi shook her head in mock agreement. "It sounds like you have just the right amount of love and compassion to be the messenger."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I do think of her as a friend. Dan and Ken get along well and we play cards together some. She hates to lose and is one of those 'always right' kinds of people. For that reason, Dan and I will pair up, against Susan and Ken, because they both like to win. It works out nice, since Dan never gets on my case about making bonehead moves, which I seemed to do too often. We would always lose until we found a way to cheat. We would slip off our shoes and tap each other under the table, trying to signal our intentions. I suppose we got a bit flirty at times. He would run his toes up and down my leg, and I would be looking at him, trying to figure out what code he was trying to signal. But there was no code; he was just having a good time while playing a stupid card game."

"Really," Randi said. "You two played 'footies' together so now in his hour of need he picks you as the one to play 'Jack and Jill' with. Things are starting to make sense."

I wore my more modest swimsuit on our next night out at the pool. Randi was in a reflective mood again so we floated off to the deep end of the outside pool where few had come yet.

"It is good to relax in the water after such a hot day," I said as we floated on our backs looking up at the stars.

"This reminds me of the time when I first saw the Southern Cross. It was a moonless night; the sea was as smooth as a lake. We were sitting on the deck, listening to the silence and beholding the magnificent heavens. I was leaning against Pierre's back, looking north when Pierre broke the silence. Speaking in French, which they usually did, Marcos and Pierre were sounding like little children. I got up to see what they were so excited about. Marcos pointed to a small but beautiful constellation sitting low in the sky. 'The Crux,' he said smiling.

Silence follow.

"Thank you for sharing that we me," I said, "that was beautiful."

After a few more moments of silence, I asked, "So you know some French. Say something in French for me."


Randi let a few phrased roll off her lips, changing the tone of her voice as the long ago conversation went back and forth.

"That sounds so romantic," I said. "What does it mean?"

"I'd be reading a book and Marcos would be fishing. When he caught a fish, he would yell out to me, 'Get your fucking ass over here and hand me the net.'"

"So, I would jump up, run my naked body over where he was and get the net. After we brought the fish in, I'd say, 'I hope you don't mind that I brought the rest of my body with me. My ass doesn't have any hands, only two holes, one of which you are intimately familiar with.' He would give me a little swat on the butt, tell me my French had greatly improved and we'd both laugh as I returned to my reading."

"Oh my!"

We both turned to see who had said that. It was our friend Ann, who had floated out to see us. She was a few years younger than us; someone we had met at a church concert. She was a small town girl, now a pastor's wife, with a heart to please and a sensitive spirit.

"Excuse my French," Randi laughed as we pulled ourselves out of the water to sit on the pool edge. "Dawna wanted to hear some sailor talk."

I wanted to protest that comment but thought better of it. Randi was a good person but did not mind the bad girl image.

"Traveling like that must have been exciting," Ann said as she tried to undo her 'oh my' comment.

"It was an adventure but more than that, it was healing. For the first time in my life, I took time to read, think and reflect. It was out there in the middle of the ocean that I realized that I wasn't stupid and had value as a person. Before we left, Marcos went with me, and a bunch of my friends, to the county library. I wanted to check out some novels but he said they already had enough of those. Instead, we got books on classical philosophy, history books, biology, psychology, art, even medical books covering first aid and tropical illness. The only 'story books' he let me get were about explorers like, Marco Polo, Magellan, David Livingston, those who climbed Mount Everest or traveled to the South Pole. Of course, there were books on sailing. I had quite a library and read every one of them at least once. And I'll have you know, later when I had a job and was making good money, I boxed those books up and sent them back along with a check for $500, so don't think too ill of me for taking them without permission."

Randi went on to talk about her dysfunctional upbringing, the drinking, the drugs, the broken home. After her parents' divorce, there were her mother's abusive boyfriends. Then came the homeless months until she was befriended and moved to San Diego. It was the first time in years that she had a sense of family again, with unconditional love, regular meals, a comfortable bed. Her new friends had found a niche market in the porn industry, making custom movies for rich clients. The client would cast themselves, their wife and friends as the 'stars' in the movie. Even though she wasn't the prettiest girl there, she was often given a role to play. From there it was on to the high seas and seeing the Southern Cross.

It was obvious by the pained look on Ann's face that she was disturbed by what she was hearing. "Sex without love seems so wrong. How could you put up with it?"

"It wasn't until I met Pierre that I experienced a deeper kind of love but you take what you can get and at that time it was my version of love and acceptance and how I could feel good about myself. Plus I was good at it; it paid my bills and gave me friends."

"After a movie was produced, we'd all get together to watch it. In my scenes, and I've always been blessed like this, as soon as the head of the penis touches me, my vagina sends out a wet welcome. You would see a dry penis sink into me, but when it came out, it glistened. I'd hear approving kudos coming from my coworkers. They knew he was getting some serious sensuous satisfaction from that fuck."

"Why do you suppose that is," I asked, "you know the wetness, because I get wet pretty fast too?"

"Probably because we drink a lot of water, plus I love the thought of having a long, hard, velvety smooth cock in me, I'm sure you are that way too," Randi said as she looked at Ann and me.

"Betty, our director was a middle age woman who was a perfectionist. She wanted quality and pushed us to deliver the real article not some fake stuff. She wanted us to have real orgasms with real moans and real perspiration and stressed having those was under our control. 'It is how you think,' she would tell us, plus 'practice, practice, practice.' She would test us, pushing two fingers into our cunts and having us squeeze as she massaged our g-spot. We would practice on ourselves and with those in our acting company. My PC muscles got so strong I could squeeze a cock so hard it could not move, which by the way is a great way to hold a man's erection after he has ejaculated. She called it 'milking' as we varied the pressure of the embrace our cunts put on the cock. Our clients loved it."

"I can see how a strong vaginal grip would feel good to a man but how does it help with your orgasm," I questioned.

"Clasping the penis causes the woman's genitals, surface and deep, to move with the penis, stimulating the clitoris in particular. So, along with the wonderful feeling of having a penis fill our vagina, we are applying direct pressure on our g-spot and indirectly stimulating our clit at the same time. Nothing could be finer," Randi concluded, giving a little wink toward Ann.

"I'll start having my PCs do sit-ups," Ann said, acknowledging Randi may be on to something. "But I still don't know why porn is so popular."

"That easy," Randi replied. "There are boys coming of age every day and are suddenly intrigued by the female form. But beyond that, men love to see a naked woman and wives don't show off their bodies often enough. I know to a woman's thinking, that seems shallow, but it is the way men are programmed and they really can't help it, which when you think about it is to our advantage. As a woman, we think our pussies are ugly but a man thinks they are desirable and beautiful. Betty called us 'eye candy' then demonstrated the poses she wanted us to do in our movies, casual, unassuming, yet bold. The key to 'Wilf' she told us is the 'L.' 'Your husband can LIKE to fuck you all day long but can only 'F' you for a very short time. Letting him see you is a big 'L' and something he'll like to see often. It visually stores nicely in his brain, available for recall at any time. Wives need to imprint their naked image on their husbands mind frequently, which is the main ingredient in porn."

"Ann, save you modesty for church but at home give your man plenty of 'eye candy' and he'll be thinking he has the most beautiful wife a man can have."

"Ok,' Ann said. "I'll take your advice even though I don't like the way you learned it."

Then shifting the conversation, Ann asked, "And how did you meet your husband?" It was one of those questions that women love to talk about.

"We had island hopped all over the South Pacific and had come back north to Hawaii. Pierre had gotten a nasty infection that bothered his lungs so we were in ER. Casey had just started his medical internship at that hospital and we just happened to meet. My French companions decided to call it quits. Pierre flew back to France to have his condition treated. Marcos stayed long enough to sell the boat then left too. I needed a place to stay; Casey needed a girlfriend so I moved in with him. His work took all his time so I finished my GED then took a two-year RN course. Casey is the one who insisted I do that. He said we should be able to talk the same language. I worked two years as an ER nurse then I had my first baby.

"It must have been hard to leave Pierre," I said.

Randi eyes misted. "It was, he was the love of my life. I thought we would be together forever. When he left, we continued to live on the boat, awaiting his return. It was but a few weeks, when Marcos told me that he had passed away. I cried for three days."

There was a long silence broken only by Randi's deep breaths as she attempted to regain her composure. "I'm ok, she said, after splashing some water on her face to wash away the tears.

"So why did you leave Hawaii," Ann asked, trying again to move the thoughts away from a heartbreaking past.

"It was a combination of things," Randi said as she continued to recount her past with brutally frankness and shameless honest. I loved the water and found people I could go sailing with. Casey hated the water and the little island was making him feel claustrophobic. He grew up in South Dakota, so loves the smell of sagebrush, the wide-open country and hunting, so he wanted to come back to this part of the world. We had been living together for five years yet he would not marry me, even though I proposed many times." Randi gave a little cynical laugh at the thought.

"Anyway, he had some women on the side, which he said was not infidelity because we were not married. Casey worked all the time, just sleep and work it seemed. I worked three twelve hour shifts thus had lots of days off, so I'd go sailing with my friends. I'm not certain exactly which sailing trip we were on or who the father is but when I got pregnant I made sure I had plenty of sex with Casey so he wouldn't know I had been screwing around and he'd accept being the father. The pregnancy was enough to convince him we should marry, but I had to agree to move here. Two years after our first, I got pregnant again, so we have two children now. They are the light of my life. And you know what else is cool, Dawna's husband comes out to the pool with us and baby sits all our kids while we just goof off. How awesome a husband is that!

Once again, Randi had pulled us into her story.

"You don't know who the father is," Ann said, trying to muffle her shock.

"Well I have my suspicions," Randi said. Amber's husband, Mike, is who I'm thinking now. My little guy has a lot of his facial features."

It was my turn to register my surprise. "You are out cruising on the ocean and steal another woman's husband; you're more of a pirate than I ever imagined."

"I did not steal," Randi retorted. "Amber was right there watching. She shared her husband, they all did. Little orgies like this were my way of getting some revenge in my mind against Casey. It could have been someone else, they all did me, but even though Mike would fuck the other girls, he waited until he got to me to ejaculate. I admit it was kind of a crazy time."

Ann, still grappling to understand said, "Amber was OK with that."

"Of course," Randi replied. "It is not like she wasn't getting her hole plugged. I took her husband's sperm; she took someone else's. It wasn't like there was a shortage of semen or anything, indeed, the cum flowed rather freely, as there were always more guys then girls."

Ann's husband came splashing across the pool toward us. It was hard to tell if he was just a bad swimmer or fighting to keep from drowning. I think it was both. He was breathing hard and choking as he pulled himself out of the water to join us.

"I don't want you to misunderstand," Randi hastened to interject, that was then, this is now. I'm not like that any more. I've changed; having children did that for me." Then smiling sweetly she finished by saying, "Your husbands are safe around me. Even if you begged me and gave me ten thousand dollars I wouldn't do 'it'."

"Ten thousand dollars," the pastor repeated, butting into our conversation, "I could use that."

"Forget the ten thousand, you could use some swimming lessons," Randi's sarcasm was scarcely concealed.

Ann quickly inserted herself into the conversation, telling her husband how Randi had travel to faraway places on a sailboat. Looking at Randi and desperately wanting to change the direction of the conversation once again, Ann said, "You must be a good swimmer." I thought, both their comment must have seemed cruel to the hard breathing pastor, but he didn't seem to mind. Nor did he wait for Randi's response.

"Did you meet any missionaries on your travels?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact I did, and very nice people too. We had been swimming, looking at the coral, when a wave slammed me against it, giving me a nasty jagged cut that bled profusely. On the island there was a medical clinic run by some Christians. The doctor graciously sewed me up and didn't charge me a thing, which was good because I didn't have much more than the cloths on my back and that was only the string on my bikini. Can you imagine if he had taken that!"

Certain things can set Randi off, and an egotistical male was doing it now. I don't think he meant any harm but as a pastor, it was ingrained in him to find a way to witness for his faith.

"All in all," Randi continued, "I think he did a really nice job. Do you want to see it?"

Without waiting for a reply, she pulled up her bikini top, both breast bounced as they fell out. Then pointing to a three-inch scar on the side of her right breast, she twisted around so we could all see it.

"Go ahead and touch it," she said while looking at the pastor, "it feels pretty smooth all considering how horrible a cut it was."

I do believe he started to reach out, saying, "very nice," leaving himself open for a sharp elbow to his side, as his wife glared at him.

"He had the skill of a seamstress," I said as I motioned for her to put her top back on before the lifeguard saw us.

Randi was smiling her mischievous smile as she pulled that small piece of cloth back down over her breast. The funny thing was, it did not even cover the scar.

"Ten thousand dollars," I quipped.

"No, make that one hundred thousand dollars," Randi shot back.

Clueless and undeterred about what we meant, the pastor pressed on, "Have either of you ever read the Bible?"

"I have," Randi shouted, as she raised her hand and wiggled her body like a little school girl who got the answer first.

"It was in French. Pierre said only a fool would go to sea without a Bible. At sunrises we would go on deck and he'd read from it, mostly from the Psalms and Proverbs. Anyway, he taught me to read from it. I wasn't real good at reading but I could make out the story."

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