The Floating Threesome Pt. 07

How is it that some guys get lucky with women all the time? For Burt Olsen, luck has nothing to do with it. In The Floating Threesome he figured out a perfect way to persuade lots of women to have sex. The story unfolds in 11 short chapters. It gets more complicated in Chapter 7.

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Things started happening when Taylor began putting content online. One afternoon she came in and said she was getting a lot of questions from people who wanted to know things that were beyond her knowledge of sailing. She opened her laptop and started asking me stuff about the boat, the cruise, monohulls vs catamarans, and on and on and on.

"Geez, Taylor. How many of these damn questions did you get?"

"So far, just over seven thousand," she said.

"Seven thousand! You've gotten that many questions already!? What the actual fuck! How is that possible?"

Taylor smiled. "It's possible because I'm good, Burt. The secret is putting the information in front of people who are interested in that kind of thing. Don't get too excited. Most of the questions are from people who know nothing about sailing and are not likely to ever buy anything bigger than a canoe. But you know the saying. From tiny acorns, mighty oaks grow. Things are going to get a lot busier when we post some photos of you sailing with a pretty girl. That would be me, by the way.

"As soon as people start imagining that this trip is going to involve a handsome couple who can't keep their hands off each other, the number of unique daily hits is going to explode. You already understand that the central message in your promotion is to appeal to guys who like to fantasize that buying a boat will help them score with hot girls. Well, the web is all about sexual fantasies. Prepare to be inundated. Aren't you lucky that you hired someone who knows how to handle that kind of volume? That would be me, by the way."

I was becoming very, very fond of Taylor. Her feelings were beginning to matter to me. I didn't know if I was making a fool of myself. When Taylor told me she works as an exotic dancer, it explained a lot. Those women make their living convincing saps that each guy occupies a special place in their hearts. It was impossible to forget that Taylor might be treating me like some dude thinking about paying for a lap dance.

That's part of the reason I continued to "interview" women for the modeling job. As sure as I was that Taylor would go on the cruise with me, I still entertained the idea that another woman might be a better choice. And I'll just be honest about this. I was not able to stop doing something that let me have sex with so many beautiful women. At times I worried that I was getting these women excited about an opportunity that was probably out of reach.

But it's not like I exploited them. All of them got a check for $100, a souvenir t-shirt or some jewelry, a meal at Sloppy Joe's, a nice two-day sailing trip, and an opportunity to decide if they wanted to experience the wonders and glories of my cock. I am serious about that. I've gotten past the idea that sex is a transactional thing and I am obligated to do something extraordinary for a woman who agrees to have sex with me. As far as I'm concerned, riding up and down on my cock is a privilege. Any woman who gets to do that should consider herself lucky.

There certainly were a lot of very lucky women that summer. I'd go through the bikini photos of the girls who applied, and I'd decide which one I wanted to fuck next. Did I want a blonde? A red head? Tall? Lean? Curvy? The growing pile of applications seemed like a pussy buffet. And remember that all this was voluntary. When the women realized that I needed someone who'd be an intimate companion on a long cruise, what happened next was up to them. Several declined to take that opportunity, and that was fine. But I got the impression that most of the women who wanted to be models were very pragmatic about sex. For years, they'd used sex to get what they wanted. I was happy to let them use it on me.

I didn't think I'd change my mind about Taylor when I saw the application from Madison (Maddy) Katelin. Maybe you recognize the name. Maddy won an Olympic gold medal in gymnastics. Her application included a photograph of her with the medal around her neck. That got my attention.

Unlike most of the applicants, Maddy had done some real modeling. The people who sponsor the American Olympic programs use the athletes to model products ranging from sportswear to mutual funds. She emailed me copies of advertisements with her wearing everything from windbreakers and workout clothes to swimwear. As you might expect, a strong athletic woman like Maddy looked pretty nice in a one-piece, and even better in a two-piece. Her abs alone were worthy of a gold medal.

According to her letter, Maddy felt she'd accomplished everything she could in gymnastics. After winning gold, the life of an athlete is all downhill. She'd been working like crazy since she was a little girl, and she decided she wanted to do other things. She also acknowledged that although she was still young enough to compete, she knew it would get harder and harder to achieve less and less.

It turned out that Maddy's family was enthusiastic about boats. They owned a very nice yacht, and Maddy grew up learning how to sail it. I realized quickly that she was probably a better sailor than me. I was intrigued. I wanted to meet her. I had a feeling that an elite athlete with a gold medal probably wouldn't be tempted to have sex with a 30-year-old owner of a nautical business, but I didn't really care. I thought it would be fun to see what kind of woman she was. I called her in for an interview in my office, and she showed up right on time.

"It's good to meet you, Mr. Olsen," she said before giving me a very firm handshake.

"Please call me Burt," I said.

"You can call me Maddy," she said.

Maddy was refreshing. She was calm, and articulate, and she had a good story to tell. She felt that a whole world of opportunities was waiting for her, and that she could be a success with any of them. Her years of gymnastic competitions were over, but she thought she could find some other athletic field worthy of her time. Maybe sailing?

"This boat you are building. It's suited for racing, isn't it?" she asked.

I hadn't thought of that. "Yes. Catamaran races are very popular in certain circles," I said.

"If we took your boat out and won some races, that would be good advertising," she said.

"Maddy, I hadn't thought of that, but you are correct," I said. "Jack expects his new hull design to be very streamlined. I was thinking it would make the boat fun to sail, but it's true that a few modifications might turn it into a fine racer."

"I like to go fast," she said.

I felt a bit awkward mentioning that part of my promotion plan involved sex. But when I talked about the notion that I wanted to appeal to guys who believed owning a boat would help him score with hot girls, she had no problem with it.

"Burt, that's been part of the Olympics since before I was born. Look at figure skating. Those women go out on the ice in those skimpy dresses and perform like ballerinas. It's very sex positive and erotic. That's part of what I like about it. I think you may have already seen the photos I sent of me modeling swimwear. Been there, done that."

I had her talk to Jack, who fell in love instantly. "Burt! Burt! That girl knows how to race! She's perfect! You've got to hire her!"

"Jack, Maddy knows how to sail, and she knows she'd like to race. She's never done any actual racing."

"Doesn't matter. She's an elite athlete. That girl has the potential to be a first-class racer. I know it. I know it! I want her on my boat."

"Ok. I'll take her out sailing. We'll see how she does."

"That's great. This time, try to skip the part where you make it seem that fucking the captain is part of the job description. I believe we can waive that requirement in this case."

"Would you like to be the one to take her sailing?"

"No. Fuck no. You're better at dealing with people. My strengths include stuff like applying fiberglass epoxy. But promise me you'll keep an open mind, OK? I know you want to take Taylor, and I don't blame you, but Maddy is probably a better choice."

"If you say so. I'll keep an open mind," I said.

Maddy agreed to go sailing the following weekend. Jack was so excited I was afraid he might wet his pants. She showed up a few minutes early, and she was surprised to see I wanted to sail in a monohull. "Why not a catamaran?" she said.

"To be honest, because I don't own one," I said. "Jack has made a lot of catamarans, and I used to have one, but at the moment I don't. We won't be able to sail a catamaran until Jack finishes the one he's building. But this is a nice little boat. We'll do fine."

We did better than fine. Maddy is a much better sailor than me. She shoved me aside and took over right after we pulled away from the marina and shut off the engine. There was a nice, moderate wind that day, but Maddy managed to make our boat go faster than I ever had. She got the sail to lean over so far I was afraid she'd swamp the boat. I felt like I was on an amusement park ride. But she was absolutely calm the whole time. There was never a time when she wasn't in complete control.

"I wish we were on a catamaran," she said.

"Have you ever sailed one?" I asked.

"Not really. I mean, I've sailed Hobie Cats. But those aren't real boats, are they? They're more like two surfboards with a sail. I've seen a lot of big, beautiful cats, and I rode one once. My Dad has a friend with a big catamaran. But he had a crew to sail it. I never touched a rope the whole time."

Who hasn't sailed a Hobie Cat? Almost everyone. For those of you who don't have a doctorate in nautical science, Hobie Cats are tiny little boats that are a lot like Sanderlings. Tiny, fun, and completely impractical. It takes very little skill to make them scoot around on the water. I was glad to see Maddy wasn't claiming she knew how to sail catamarans. But it was obvious she knew how to handle a monohull.

We set off for Key Largo, and I talked about the cruise. She asked a lot of smart questions. I didn't have to say anything about the fact that going on such a voyage together would force us to live in very intimate surroundings. I could tell that the wheels of her brain were going around and around as she digested that information. I got the feeling she was looking at me and wondering if she wanted to spend so much time in such close quarters.

I doubted it. Maddy wasn't like the other women who'd applied for this job, and I didn't think she was likely to offer sex as an inducement for me to hire her. But I was enjoying myself, and she seemed to be having a good time as well. I doubted that I'd ever see her again, but that didn't stop me from having a great conversation with Maddy. She was a fascinating person. I knew that elite athletes devote extraordinary effort to winning competitions, and Maddy explained some of the ways she'd sacrificed things that didn't help her win. She said she'd had a few boyfriends, but that the relationships never got very far because there was no room in her life for things unrelated to gymnastics.

I also learned that Maddy's family was wealthy. This is true of a lot of Olympians. If a kid has the ability to become a first-class skier, or figure skater, or gymnast, they need parents who can afford coaches, trainers, equipment, and all kinds of other things needed to cultivate greatness. Maddy never had to work. Her whole focus was on finding projects that satisfied her, regardless of whether it paid the bills. It made me envy and admire her, and she could tell. I imagine she gets a lot of that.

We arrived at Key Largo so early I couldn't believe my boat had gone that fast. I didn't want the day to end, so I tried to extend it.

"I have a suggestion," I said. "Have you ever gone to Key West?"

"Never," Maddy said. "I've been meaning to go ever since I moved to Miami, but I haven't done anything to make it happen."

"I have no idea if you have enough time for this," I said. "If you like, we could sail there today. We'd get there in time to do a little sightseeing and I'd get us dinner at a famous restaurant down there. We'd need to spend the night on the boat and sail home in the morning, so we wouldn't get back until early evening tomorrow. It's up to you." I made sure she understood that I wasn't offering to get her a room in a hotel. There was a separate bunk below decks, so she knew I wasn't suggesting we sleep together. I imagined that Maddy had spent enough time sailing that she'd spent plenty of nights on plenty of boats.

"I'd love that," she said. "I'm having a lot of fun. This is the first time I've been sailing for a while. I'm not ready to head home yet."

"Then it's decided. We keep going southwest," I said.

The longer I was with Maddy, the more comfortable I became. She was so laid back. So chill. I felt I could discuss anything with her. We seemed to be becoming good friends by the time we docked in the marina. Being with someone so upbeat and friendly felt good. I enjoyed showing her the tourist section of the city, and she claimed to be very happy with the souvenir t-shirt I got for her.

She also enjoyed Sloppy Joe's. We had cocktails, and dinner, and she liked hearing about all the hours Ernest Hemingway enjoyed at the place before tourists took over. We were pleasantly full and tipsy as we made our way back to the boat. When we got there, I said Maddy should sleep in the big bed and I should get the bunk.

"No Burt, I'll take the bunk," she said. "You're bigger than me. I'll fit more comfortably in the bunk." I made an effort to change her mind, but she insisted, and I had to admit that she was correct. The bunk would be a tight fit for me, but she'd manage just fine.

I was considering sleeping in my clothes, but Maddy stripped down to her bra and panties before climbing into bed. It was pretty dark in the cabin, so I took off my shirt and pants and slept in my boxers. It had been a long day, with lots of activity, so I fell asleep quickly. The sun was coming up when I woke, put on my clothes, and shook Maddy's shoulder. "I know a nice place to have breakfast before we head home," I said.

As we ate, I told Maddy how much I enjoyed sailing with her. "This is the most relaxed I've felt in a long time. I can barely remember what it was like sitting at my desk at work and placing orders for fiberglass resin. This is why I got into sailing."

"In Moby Dick, Herman Melville wrote something I can't ever forget," Maddy said. "He wrote something like 'Everyone knows meditation and water are wedded forever.' Very true."

"My feeling exactly," I said. "Too bad all that meditation never helped Captain Ahab."

"Yeah, that guy was the opposite of chill. He would have been a good candidate for Prozac. Or Xanax."

The trip back was blissful. I'd gotten used to Maddy's insistence that we go so fast that I sometimes felt she was about to swamp the boat. She knew exactly how far she could push the edge of the envelope without tossing us into the water.

It felt like I was sailing with a friend I'd known for years. The hours flew by, and I was a bit sad when we arrived at the marina in Miami. I'd enjoyed spending two days with Maddy, and I doubted that I'd ever see her again.

She'd taken an Uber to the marina, so I offered to drive her home. It turned out that Maddy owned a very nice house in a very nice neighborhood. I could have never afforded a place like that when I was her age. Hell, I can't afford it today; that's why I'm living in a camper. It was larger than I expected for a single woman. She said that she moved to Miami with her mother, and they bought the place together, but after six months Mom met a guy, and she'd moved into his place. Since then, Maddy has lived alone.

"This looks very comfortable," I said.

"Would you like to see it?" she asked. "If you'd like to come in, I could make a pot of coffee."

That was a welcome surprise. I'd planned to drive back to my camper so I could have a drink and feel sorry for myself. This was a much better offer. I'd gotten the impression that Maddy was beginning to like me; it seemed that my impression was correct.

She gave me a quick tour. Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, three big walk-in closets, a nice open kitchen with lots of windows that looked out on a backyard with a decent sized pool in a screened enclosure.

"This is much better than my place," I said.

"Yeah? What kind of place do you have?" she asked.

Since I thought I'd never see Maddy again, I decided to tell her the truth. "I'm a little bit homeless," I said.

She laughed, and I told her the story of me winding up in a camper parked behind my business. To my relief, she didn't think it was weird at all. "Sounds very practical," she said. "You're living rent-free in a very expensive city. I've spent a lot of time in campers. And tents. If I wanted to spend a year in a camper, it would not be a problem at all."

"I'm glad you don't think I'm some kind of bum," I said. "That camper has helped me recover from the financial setbacks of my divorce." I felt I could tell her these things and not be judged, and I think she recognized that I was being especially open and honest with her.

Maddy poured my coffee, and we stood in her kitchen to drink it. "Maddy, I have enjoyed the last two days. I enjoy your company."

"I feel the same," she said.

There was a long pause. Maddy seemed to be thinking about something. She put her coffee on the counter, and looked into my eyes.

"I've been thinking about something all day. Can't stop thinking about it."

"Yeah? What?" I said.

"I think it would be very nice if you kissed me," she said.

I was flabbergasted - in a good way. What she said was so unexpected that I found I couldn't move. That wasn't a problem, because Maddy walked over to me, wrapped her arms around me, and planted a nice romantic kiss right on my lips.

I kissed her back, kissed her again, and kissed her a third time. "I'm glad to know I'm not the only one having these feelings," I said. We spent a long time making out in her kitchen, and soon she took my hand and put it on her breast. My other hand slid down her back until I was pressing against her bottom. I pulled her body to mine, and I realized I had an erection. She had to have known, but I didn't care. I wanted her to see that she made me feel that way.

"Let's go," she said, taking my hand and leading me back to the bedroom.

For two days, I'd admired Maddy's sexy face and body. I'd seen what she looked like when she wore panties and a sports bra. It was thrilling to know I was finally going to see how she looked nude.

Maddy had a lean, muscular, athletic physique unlike any I'd ever seen. The parade of would-be models who'd had sex with me over the last weeks and months gave me many chances to see many types of beautiful bodies, but none of them were more beautiful than Maddy. I'd already seen that she had beautiful defined abs. When she took off her shorts, I saw that her muscular definition continued all the way down her abdomen. Like all gymnasts, Maddy was so lean that she had smallish breasts. But her breasts looked bigger because they sat on top of big, defined pectoral muscles.

Like most guys, I like curves. Maddy was curvaceous in a special way. All those muscles gave her body a uniquely feminine shapeliness. Her calves. Biceps. Shoulders. Every part of her body looked like a chart from an anatomy textbook. When I reached for her, those muscles were firm to the touch. Her skin felt like a smooth, soft layer of silk stretched over a frame of hard, powerful muscle. She was unlike any woman I'd ever touched.