Stormy Weather

You know the old sayings about sailboats: The best days are the day you buy and the day you sell. In between, it's like standing in a cold shower ripping up $100 bills. And then there's the oldest one of all, that having a woman on board angers the sea gods and brings bad luck, jealousies, and stormy weather. That one, at least, seems to be true.

****

My dad's boss had bought a fancy new 50-foot racer. He wanted me to crew on the race from Newport to Bermuda, a multi-day extravaganza of boredom, storms, and seasickness, even with no women on board. I was lukewarm at the prospect. The boss was an OK guy, until he got bossy; then he had all the interpersonal tact of a pirate. But I thought I should go, because Dad had volunteered me. What Dad didn't tell me, and perhaps didn't know, was that the boss's daughter, Courtney, was going, too.

Courtney was really clever. I liked that about her, but it got her promoted to the grade ahead of me in school. I still tried to flirt with her occasionally, but each encounter was another chance for her to ignore me, a lesser being. She wasn't actively mean, just dismissive. I wasn't alone; a lot of entitled jocks complained that she was a manipulative bitch for attracting them and promptly rejecting them. I figured the actual problem was that so many guys were hitting on her so hard that she was tired of fending them off gracefully.

Courtney had been blessed, or saddled, with exceptional looks -- an attractive face and a truly sensational figure. Her attitude didn't do her any favors, either - she was a wild child who didn't give a fuck what other people thought. She dressed however she liked and sported a tongue stud. It all created certain expectations, and rumors of sexual exploits followed her around like a cloud of pheromones. She'd probably found that if she was even slightly polite to a guy, he'd be all over her like kudzu.

I eventually made a point of being no more than civil to her (and not staring at her tits, of course). She was marginally civil back, which put me ahead of a lot of guys. But we ended up going to different colleges and eventually lost touch. Now we were going to be crewing together for a few days and living in tight, shared quarters. Maybe the real Courtney would be revealed.

Heh-heh.

****

I got to the boat early, to learn the layout. Boss was already there, supervising a scuba guy who was cleaning the hull. So were a couple of younger, hulking, heavily-muscled Swedish brothers who were going to do the grinding. They hardly spoke English. Maybe they were why Courtney had signed on, though, because she was there early, too, modeling a tank top, hot pants and some long, shapely legs. She looked outdoorsy, like I remembered her -- blond eyebrows, blond ponytail, tan with freckles. Unexpectedly large boobs, of course. She nodded at me vaguely while coiling some lines. To her father, the nod probably said, "Hi, I'm busy." I figured it meant, "Hands off, Dave." She hardly looked up.

In short order we were joined by a 40-ish guy who was going to do the navigating and weather. He was a wise-ass who seemed to have an affinity for the back of Courtney's hot pants, which in my opinion was perfectly reasonable. Boss noticed and said something corrective to him. He looked mortified, but Courtney just grinned, not offended in the slightest. Next came the Boss's sailmaker, an older guy who was along to get a good result (and good publicity) for his sails, and Tom and Jerry, two non-professionals from Boss's yacht club. It came to a crew of nine, living in a single sweaty, damp, rock-n-rollin' space for half a week.

I went below and looked around. This boat, like any serious racer, was equipped to save weight. It had a forecabin used mostly for sail storage, and a head. The rest of belowdecks was a single cavernous space holding a nav station, a mini-galley, and a table with benches. On each side aft, under the cockpit, were canvas cots attached to the side of the hull. There were three tiers of two on each side, so everyone could sleep on the windward side of the boat. Keeping crew weight to windward keeps the boat more upright, which is faster. As usual, each cot had a belt to tie you in so you wouldn't roll out when we heeled.

I dumped my overnight bag on a convenient upper berth to claim it.

By the time I got back on deck, a team meeting had started in the cockpit. Courtney was sitting between the Swedish meatballs, Lars and Erik. She had her elbows resting on the coaming behind her, which resulted in her arching her back and sticking her tits out. Truth be told, her tits didn't need much help standing out; either they were a lot perkier than I recalled, or they were enjoying some kind of extraordinarily uplifting experience. Whenever one of the meatballs said something to her in his pidgin English, she would rock back to look up at him adoringly, laugh, and lean against his muscular arm in a friendly manner. It was annoying. Her act got so obvious that Boss/Dad eventually ordered, "Courtney, for fuck's sake! Knock it off!" She pouted and pushed her boobs out further.

Boss was assigning jobs and watches. "We're only nine, so obviously you'll all have to pitch in while you're awake. But here are the shifts: I'll be on early, from 5 to 1 PM. Lars and Erik, you'd better be with me so you can get some peace and quiet," he said, glancing meaningfully at Courtney, who scowled at him, crossed her arms under her boobs and pouted some more. "You two...," he indicated the sailmaker and the nav guy, "are the pros, so you're on nights, 9 PM to 5 AM, with Jerry here." Apparently, he didn't want a hot-pants-loving 40-something to be alone with his daughter, either. "Tom - you, Courtney and Dave will take the afternoons. Don't worry, kids;" he added, "Tom is a good skipper."

So Courtney and I would be ballast, with no regular jobs other than sitting on the windward rail, "cheeks to the teak," to help keep the boat more upright. We had a week of boredom ahead unless something went wrong... which of course it would. They also call sailing "days of boredom punctuated by moments of terror."

****

The beginning of a race is the most interesting part. In a long race it counts for less, but everyone still wants a perfect start: at the favored end of the line, at full speed, right at the starting gun. That results in a lot of huge yachts scything around only feet apart, using the rules to duke each other out. There's lots of genteel screaming. You need people to keep track of other boats in every direction, the wind angle, your distance from the line, and the countdown, and of course, you need the same people to steer, tack, and trim. A computer can help, but a good skipper is better. Courtney spent the whole time telling Dad/Boss all the things he was doing wrong, and he spent most of the time telling her to shut up. He should have listened. We started late.

Underway, all of us without other jobs sat on the windward rail, feet over the side, hanging onto the lifeline. Being the youngest, I somehow qualified for the spot up front, the wettest one. Courtney took a spot about ten feet away to indicate her lack of interest in me. Sandwiches and beers were passed around, and everyone settled into the usual routine of strategizing, banter, and stories. Our navigation expert sat next to Courtney and commenced to hit on her.

The clouds ahead were dark and swirling. It was like driving into a tunnel. The forecast and radar said we were sailing into the remains of a tropical depression. The logical strategy was to aim West, where the winds would be strongest.

For a while, as we pounded along in the waves, I had fun sliding glances at Courtney's bouncing profile. Eventually, though, a giant meatball rolled up and sat between us, and Courtney started putting the make on him. She was batting her eyelashes and cooing over his giant muscles, laughing at his incomprehensible stories and slowly inching closer and closer. Then the wind came up and the waves started submerging our feet. Courtney simply got up and went below. The Swedish guy looked like he wanted to follow, but he outweighed her by 150 pounds and knew he was meant to stay on the rail.

As we got further into storm, spray from the bow started drenching me. Waves were bouncing us so hard I occasionally went airborne, resulting in a hard landing when the deck came rising back up to meet me. Even in full foul weather gear with the hood pulled down and my hands in my sleeves, I was sopping wet and hurting. This is, of course, part of the predictable fun of long-distance racing. By the time our watch was finally over, it was dark, I was totally frozen and all I could think about was the nice dry bunk down below. I stumbled numbly down the companionway and tried to orient myself.

It was pitch black. The whole place was rocking. As my eyes adjusted, though, I could make out a dim red glow from the nav station lamp, which was aimed down to avoid impairing night vision. There was a soft swish as we climbed each wave, then a suspenseful silence followed by a shuddering thud as the hull landed in each trough. In the moments of silence, I could hear a couple of people snoring.

The nav station was on my side of the boat, just ahead of the sleeping area, so the outline of my cot was dimly visible in the reddish glow. Holding grab bars for balance, I felt my way over to it, shucked my foul weather gear, kicked off my boat shoes, and thankfully peeled off my wet shirt. It landed on the cabin sole with a wet flop. My pants were sopping too, so after a moment's hesitation and a quick glance around, they joined my shirt on the floor. Then I vaulted into my cot.

Shit!! Someone was already there! I tried to scramble up, but an arm was flung over me from behind. It gripped the outer edge of the cot, trapping me. I froze.

Then I felt boobs mashed against my back. Big ones.

Courtney.

She was in my cot! In the dark, she obviously hadn't seen my bag on it.

I tried to get up again, quietly, but she held me down, so I froze again, considering my options. She must think I was one of her Swedish goons, on a friendly visit. I should clear that up. I should whisper, but turning front-to-front in a narrow, saggy little cot wearing only my briefs seemed pretty intimate -- especially with an incipient hard-on.

Courtney released her hold on the edge of the cot. I began a partial turn, but as soon as I was on my back she rose up and gave me a long kiss right on the lips. It wasn't even faintly platonic.

Hmmm.

She ran her hand slowly down my bare chest. All the way down. She cupped the bulge in my damp briefs, still kissing.

Yikes! She had to know I wasn't one of her giant Swedish meatballs by now! Oh, well. I turned toward her and grabbed her boobs, a long-term aspiration. She was topless, and they felt big and squishy and soft. I couldn't begin to palm them, so I just squashed and kneaded them around. She stopped kissing me but seemed to be enjoying squeezing my bulge and feeling it grow. Her lips were next to my ear. I could feel her hot breath coming faster.

What set this off? Just inadvertently landing on her in bed? Maybe she was sleep-fucking or something. Or maybe those rumors were true. What was next? I ran a hand down her back, to her ass. She was still wearing panties. That must be a signal; she couldn't possibly be planning to fuck, right here, in the wide-open interior of the boat! Anyone else who was sleeping would be right here near us on the windward side. They might wake up. Or someone might come down to navigate. Or some idiot might come down and snap on a real light to look for something!

Courtney wasn't fazed. She was continuing to probe my cock and balls through my briefs, vaguely, as if she were half asleep, while we sucked face. It was actually kind of nice. I could tolerate this, I thought, despite her annoying behavior with the Swedes. I fondled her boobs and ass. But then she drew her hand up and plunged it back down under my waistband. She grabbed my rigid shaft and pulled it out where all the world would see, if a light went on. She stood it up and started stroking it, running her nails up the underside and expertly massaging that spot right under the head. I shivered and was rewarded with an exhale of more hot breath on my ear.

She pulled me on top of her. I supposed the idea was that, if someone saw us, she could hide beneath me. That might work, in very dim light. But that wasn't the plan at all, as I found when she pushed my briefs down and managed to kick them off me completely. Again, oh, well; I was so stiff that I had outgrown them anyway. She pulled me up until my cock was lined up right over her face, and she quietly sucked on it for a while. I was losing control and about to start face-fucking in earnest when she released my cock and held it down on her chest, between her breasts. The message was clear. I repositioned myself, she gripped it with her tits, and I started sliding it between them. She was occasionally kissing or licking the tip on the upstrokes.

My mind was running wild with questions. Like, was I meant to come right in her face, or on her tits, or in her mouth for neatness, or...?

Some pre-cum was lubricating the process, which made me worry about sticky noises. She re-gripped and clamped her boobs over me even harder. They were really big! And plush! I imagined how they would look if we could actually fuck in the daylight, and unfortunately, that set me off. The wave built unstoppably, I started fucking faster, and within a minute, possibly a little sooner than she expected, I launched an ocean of cum from between her big boobs right into the darkness.

She was quiet for a while, so I lay down beside her. I didn't know what was going on, although I enjoyed imagining the clean-up. Served her right, I thought, for being annoying. But after a minute she gave me an appreciative pat on the chest, kissed the side of my head, lay back down beside me, pulled up a blanket and was still.

That, apparently, was that, except that she let me keep a grip on her boob as I dozed off. It took a while. I spent a long time wondering what the fuck was going on.

****

Daylight was filtering down the companionway when I opened my eyes. The wind had decreased and the wave action had abated. Some guys were talking in low voices and quietly munching breakfast sandwiches at the table. The nav guy was watching a radar loop on a monitor over the nav station. It showed bands of rain and another big swirl still ahead of us.

Then I noticed I was alone. And, still completely naked. I hunted around for my underwear in the cot. No luck. With a hand over my privates, I scrambled down and looked around on the floor. Strikeout again. I looked in my bag. Nothing there, either. It was gone. All of it. I'd been panty-raided.

Hmmm.

I wasn't completely sure how to take this, on short acquaintance. Maybe it was friendly kidding around, but Courtney had never been friendly. At this point in our... relationship?... it felt more like a signal that I was expected to be her convenient, readily accessible sex object. In any event, there was only one thing to do about it. I got dressed as best I could, and went looking. Courtney's duffle was hidden under a bottom cot, way in back. I extracted all of her undergarments and put it back. Then I got a coffee, said good morning to Boss Dad, and went up on deck.

Courtney and six other guys were sitting around the front end of the cockpit. She was seated across a Swedish guy's lap, with an arm draped around his neck, in only a V-neck sleepshirt. The guy had a view so far down between her tits that he could probably see China. It couldn't be any clearer that they had been fucking. He must have been her second stop last night. Annoying.

I sat across from her and waited for the show to start, smiling pleasantly, because I knew Boss Dad had been following me up the ladder.

"Courtney! For fuck's sake! Get up!" Boss Dad immediately ordered. "Get off him right now, young lady! You know perfectly well we had a deal! If you came on this trip -- no fucking around! Lars is ten years older than you, anyway!"

"But there weren't any other seats!" Courtney complained in her whiniest tone. The whole back end of the cockpit didn't count, apparently.

"And put some fucking clothes on!" Boss Dad continued. "What it this, a cathouse? Right now!"

I was really looking forward to her forthcoming predicament. Her antics were kind of pissing me off.

****

A satisfyingly long time later, Courtney re-surfaced in cut-offs so short they barely made it to her crotch, and a rain jacket. It wasn't raining. With a glance at me, she went right up to Dad and announced in her best teenage whine, "Daaaad! Dave's an asshole! He's being mean to me! I brought a couple of prized possessions with me, with some straps and elastic to secure them, and now all my tiedowns are gone, so everything's gonna get loose and bounce around in the waves! I think Dave took them. He's probably a pervert!!" She glared at me.

"Could you describe them?" I asked. "What size were they?"

Dad said, "I'm busy, kids. You'll just have to settle this one yourselves. Maybe Dave can find another way to hold them for you."

"Happy to help," I said.

I thought we were kidding around, but she was still glaring at me. As flirting goes, this was pretty strange.

****

Only the unpopular forward positions on the rail were left. Courtney grudgingly sat next to me and ignored me. Eventually the weather got so warm that she had to take off her rain jacket. Her bralessness was beyond obvious, especially after the waves had been bouncing and splashing her for a few hours. To her credit, though, she stayed there until dinner time, at which point everyone gathered in the cockpit. We sat in a small circle, had beer and sandwiches, and watched Courtney's cold nipples darting around under her damp shirt. She seemed unwilling or unable to constrain them, ignoring the obvious fact that her whole shirt was heaving with every wave. Maybe the difference was that her father was below, resting up for his watch. When he re-surfaced she lessened the problem by snuggling up to one of the meatballs and steadying a boob against his elbow. Annoying. Again.

The whole act made me pessimistic about the protocol for the night, so eventually I got up and went below alone. I pulled up a blanket and fell asleep to the sound of distant voices having fun.

****

Someone was climbing into my cot. Courtney, obviously, back to her games. My blanket was whipped aside. Knees straddled my legs and a nice springy ass sat on my knees. Soft hands took hold of my shaft. They started encouraging me to stiffness, stroking my cock in total silence and total darkness. A few minutes in, I felt her suck on it. All of it. The darkness had a way of focusing attention on small sensations. I concentrated on identifying the separate touches of her lips and her tongue stud.

The waves against the hull were now only a low murmur. Sporadic low conversation could be heard from up on deck. The nav station light was still on and, as my night vision kicked in, seemed to grow brighter. I could make out the outline of Courtney's breasts, which were wider than her body. They jiggled gently as she jerked me.

Courtney bent forward and dragged a pair of soft, naked boobs up my front. When they arrived above my face, she stood my cock up and settled down onto it. Unbelievable! She had come completely naked, we were about to fuck, and any of seven other people might decide to snap on a light. Oh, well. I reached up and fondled her tits. She gave me a long kiss and then started to rise and fall on me slowly and quietly, leaning on her arms and dangling her boobs in my face.